


from a fever dream of days

by hexmen



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Alternate Universe - Sentinels and Guides Are Known, Angst, Empathy, Guide Na Jaemin, M/M, Minor Lee Jeno/Zhong Chen Le, Pining, Rating May Change, Sentinel Park Jisung, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:47:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28099440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hexmen/pseuds/hexmen
Summary: Jisung is tethered to reality by the sound of Jaemin’s heartbeat. Jaemin thinks he should mind it more than he does.A Sentinel/Guide AU.
Relationships: Na Jaemin/Park Jisung
Comments: 35
Kudos: 90





	1. touch

**Author's Note:**

> Here we are! After years of writing non-fiction, even more years of reading fic, and months of drafting and redrafting this universe, this chapter finally exists.
> 
> This is my take on the Sentinel/Guide trope! That means it has its foundations in the 90’s UPN crime drama “The Sentinel.” I’ve definitely taken some liberties, but the basics remain mostly the same. Here’s what you should know about this universe:
> 
> -Sentinels develop one or more senses that go above and beyond what the average person can perceive. Similar to Sentinels, there are people who are born with an increased sensitivity to emotions, called Empaths.  
> -Problems start when a Sentinel uses their super-sense(s) to narrow in on something in a way the average person can’t. The Sentinel can become so hyper-fixated on one particular sensation that they lose touch with what’s going on around them, sometimes to the point of unconsciousness. This is called a “zone.”  
> -The solution? Enter Guides. All Guides are Empaths, but not all Empaths are Guides. A Guide has to be super-tuned into their Sentinel and what they’re feeling because they have to know when the Sentinel is approaching a zone.  
> -Sentinels exit a zone by focusing on a trait specific to their Guide and using that trait as an anchor to zoom out from their hyper-fixation and back into reality.  
> -Sentinel/Guide pairs who work together long enough will “bond,” which basically allows them a heightened perception of each other. 
> 
> Many thanks to the wonderful people who beta’d this for me: Nat, who convinced me I could actually write fiction and then kept me from deleting about 6k of this in a fit of pique two months ago; Mon, who always encourages my hair-brained ideas and has patiently waited for me to have the guts to post them; and Vic, who literally cheer-led this out of my Google Drive and onto AO3.
> 
> Title from “Careful You” by TV on the Radio.

* * *

**“Touch comes before sight, before speech. It is the first language and the last, and it always tells the truth.” - _The Blind Assassin_ by Margaret Atwood**

* * *

Every now and again, Jaemin lives through a dream that isn't his. Sometimes, someone’s worries or wants get too loud at night and their emotions spill over into his subconscious, playing out in fuzzy frames and muted colors like an old film reel. It’s how he came to suspect Jeno’s feelings for Chenle, almost a year before Jeno was willing to admit to having them (and even then only in whispered tones after pedaling nearly two miles uphill in the middle of the night), how he discovered the sort of language Chenle might prefer to use in bed (with a dream-someone who had looked suspiciously like Jeno—Jaemin likes to pretend he’s forgotten), and how he started to pick up on the irrational but persistent flares of jealousy Renjun bites back when Donghyuck and Mark leave together for the 127 dorm (like one day they’ll become so tightly bound together by the things Renjun has missed that there will be no more room for him in between).

The dreams aren’t always insightful—one time he watched through Mark’s eyes as he ran an entire booby-trapped obstacle course just to rescue Frank Ocean from a tank full of sharks, and Donghyuck has played chess with his baby-pudu counterpart on more than one occasion. Donghyuck never wins, despite the pudu having to push the pieces around with his tiny pudu nose; and if Donghyuck is frustrated enough to bleed the dream into Jaemin, he’s normally already lost at least twice. All told, Jaemin knows more about his members than they would ever willingly admit to his face. That’s both the burden and benefit of being a level three Empath; Jaemin won’t pretend he’s never used it to his advantage.

Jisung is a muted dreamer compared to the others. His even temperament runs true, and while he worries an awful lot, Jaemin hasn’t really picked up his wants all that often. It’s one reason why it’s always been so easy for him to say Jisung is his favorite. Despite growing up in show business, Jisung hides behind little pretense. Sure, he might play up the maknae act for the cameras every now and again, but most of the time what he feels is what you see, and what you see is what you get, or however the saying goes.

So, when another of Jisung’s dreams bled over a few weeks ago, it was nothing too unusual for Jaemin, beyond the general strangeness that comes with seeing someone else’s projection of yourself. When the haze of the dream solidified in Jaemin’s mind, Jisung’s point of view was centered at a desk in front of a monitor. Jisung was hammering his keyboard and clicking away much more quickly than the person next to him, seated in front of their own screen. It took Jaemin a second to realize the other person in the dream was _him_ , in the old room he shared with Jisung. The two of them sat there for a while, engrossed in their own tasks but still together, before Jisung reached his left hand over to cover dream-Jaemin’s own where it laid on his mouse. Dream-Jaemin clicked one final time, smiled softly down at their hands, gently turned his palm up to lock his fingers with Jisung’s, and then before _real_ Jaemin could process what was happening, he was abruptly jolted back into reality by the sound of someone’s alarm blaring through the wall.

Then, oddly enough, Jisung’s dreams crossed over multiple nights in a row. Standing at the stove, dream-Jaemin stirred a pot and chided Jisung for the uneven cuts in his chopped vegetables before he put him in a loose headlock and smacked a kiss on the top of his head. By the Han at sunset, dream-Jaemin tested out the exposure settings on his camera while Jisung sat on a blanket as his impromptu model, smiling softly at the camera before his embarrassment caught up to him and he drew his knees to his chest to hide his face. Bundled in the living room, Jisung’s leg elevated, an ice pack on his knee, dream-Jaemin tried his best to distract him from disappointment and imminent tears with affected aegyo, takeout, and video games.

Jaemin knows better than to mention the dreams in waking hours, lest Jisung literally combust from embarrassment. His members know that Jaemin can sometimes pick up on what they dream, but Jaemin tries his best not to bring up information that he wasn’t voluntarily told. Plus, Jaemin doesn’t really want them to stop; Jisung always seems so happy to be with him—or, dream-him—and his dreams are a much more pleasant experience than some of the other ones Jaemin’s suffered through. It also makes Jaemin feel a little smug to have evidence that Jisung was clearly lying when he said he didn’t have a favorite hyung, even if he has to keep it to himself.

Despite Jaemin’s wishes, a few nights later, Jisung’s quiet dreams of the two of them stop leaking over. Usually, when Jaemin wakes up having seen nothing the night before, that’s the best possible outcome. However, to his surprise, Jaemin finds after a few days that he’s almost started to _miss_ walking through Jisung’s dreams with him.

Jaemin has just finished brushing his teeth for bed when Jisung comes stumbling into the bathroom, blinking a little at the brightness of the light—he’s probably been gaming. Jaemin snorts out a laugh as Jisung squints around in search of something (probably Jeno’s cleanser) and ruffles his hair with an “aww, so cute, our Jisungie.”

“Hyung, stop,” Jisung says, frowning at Jaemin and swatting at his hands. “You’re so weird, seriously, stop.” Jaemin just coos at him some more, pulling on his cheek.

“Go to bed early tonight, okay? We have a long day tomorrow and Donghyuck said he kicked your ass in Overwatch last night. Don’t lose sleep just to make it two in a row.”

“Rude,” Jisung grumbles, flushing, and Jaemin just laughs before turning to leave the bathroom.

* * *

In his dreams, Jisung doesn’t seem to care nearly as much about Jaemin touching him. When the scene comes into focus, dream-Jaemin is sitting next to Jisung in a roller coaster seat, one hand petting through the hair on the back of Jisung’s head while the other cups the side of his face as Jisung tries to calm down from the absolute _terror_ that dream-Jaemin just subjected him to.

“You’re okay, Jisung,” dream-Jaemin murmurs. Jisung reaches a hand out, needing an anchor, and it lands high on dream-Jaemin’s thigh. “You did so good,” dream-Jaemin says with a smile, looking into Jisung’s eyes. “I’m so proud of you, you were so brave. Can you stand up for us to get off?”

Jisung nods, still a little dazed, as dream-Jaemin pulls him up before leading Jisung to clamber out of the car. As they walk down into the main theme park area, dream-Jaemin points to a carousel and makes some sort of joke about _Ridin’_ era, but Jisung isn’t focused on what he’s saying at all. He’s looking at the way the evening lights play off dream-Jaemin’s hair. He’s focused on the warmth of dream-Jaemin’s hand in his. The longer they walk, the more that warmth blooms up his arm and into his chest, throughout his body, until Jisung’s lit up all the way through.

Jisung _wants_ —so strongly that the feeling overpowers anything else, and Jaemin looks on in disbelief as Jisung plants his feet and stops them on the path.

“Hyung, wait,” Jisung says, tugging on dream-Jaemin’s hand. Jaemin watches his dream-self turn to Jisung and fight a smile before he pulls back against Jisung’s grip.

“Jisung, it’s inconsiderate to stop where people are walking like this,” dream-Jaemin says seriously, although he’s clearly suppressing a laugh. “What if they throw us out for being so rude to the other guests? Are you really going to let my hard-earned money go to waste like this?”

Jisung just laughs and reaches over to grab dream-Jaemin’s other hand, pulling him in until they’re standing face to face.

“I’m serious, Jisung!” continues dream-Jaemin. “We’re going to get cold just standing here like this with no blood circulation.” His serious act has slipped quite significantly. “Do you want your favorite hyung to freeze?”

“I’m warm enough for the both of us,” Jisung says, before closing his eyes and lowering his head to press a kiss to dream-Jaemin’s lips. It’s a sweet kiss, earnest, and a bit chapped from the fall weather. Dream-Jaemin sighs into it all the same. Jaemin, however, can’t manage anything beyond wondering _what the fuck is happening_.

In the end, Jaemin doesn’t get all that much time to wonder. He never thought he would be glad to hear Renjun’s alarm go off at 4:15 a.m., but it turns out there really is a first time for everything.

Jisung had kissed Jaemin. Or, no, he kissed dream-Jaemin. While _actual_ Jaemin had been there to see it all through Jisung’s eyes, to feel how Jisung felt, which is something that Jisung couldn’t possibly know for sure, unless Jaemin totally and completely melts down in the time before he is expected at the breakfast table.

 _It’s not like this hasn’t happened before_ , Jaemin thinks, trying to calm himself down. There was that one time Donghyuck needed a place to crash after a late night gaming session and they woke up unable to look each other in the eye, Jaemin trying to wrap his mind around dropping into dream-sex with _himself_ while Jisung snored lightly above them. Donghyuck had thumped to his hands and knees on the floor in his haste to get out of Jaemin’s bed and into the bathroom, mumbling something about too much soju and bad pizza, and they’d left it at that.

This is _worse_ than what happened with Donghyuck, though, because Jisung’s dream had been so gentle. So hopeful. And dream-Jaemin had looked back at him with an adoration in his eyes that Jaemin has seen on his own face a hundred times, on variety, in behind-the-scenes videos, but this time it was _different_ because Jisung had just _kissed him_ and—

“Jaemin!” Renjun yells through the door, and Jaemin doesn’t need his Empathy to tell that he’s frustrated. “You have exactly six minutes to get out here before I start dumping your espresso beans in the trash by the spoonful.” Jaemin closes his eyes and groans, to which Renjun responds, “one a minute, Jaemin! Get up!”

Jaemin listens to Renjun pad all the way back down the hall before he heaves himself upright. Knowing Renjun, he started a timer the second he turned to leave, meaning Jaemin probably has closer to five minutes now before his espresso beans start hitting the trash.

Any other morning, that thought alone would be enough to get Jaemin moving, but today he wonders how the actual fuck he’s supposed to sit down and eat across from Jisung when the echoes of Jisung’s contentment from kissing him are still warm in his chest. Or, kissing dream-Jaemin. Because Dream-Jisung kissed dream-Jaemin. God, he needs caffeine.

Some minutes later, Jaemin stumbles into the kitchen, still in his sleep clothes, and immediately seeks out his premium roast. Renjun has pulled the trash can over next to where he sits at their table, and Jaemin’s container of espresso beans sits on the edge; from the aroma in the air, Renjun has made good on his threat at least once.

Jaemin lets his annoyance at having his top-of-the-line espresso beans wasted power him over to snatch up the bag, but when he looks up to whine at Renjun about trashing his hard-earned and _expensive_ property, he finds Jisung is looking directly at him. 

Jaemin flinches minutely, thrown by Jisung’s direct gaze, and Jisung’s anxiety soaks through to tighten like a fist in Jaemin’s chest. He needs to say something to fill the gap, before it’s too late, but it’s not even six in the morning and his variety sense isn’t online yet. Worst of all, Jisung has lived with Jaemin for far too long not to know by now that he _saw_ something.

Jisung looks back down into his rice, a flush creeping up his neck and into his ears while Renjun looks between the two of them, brow furrowing in suspicion. The silence lingers as Jisung pushes his rice around in his bowl, and eventually it stretches long enough that Jeno looks up from where he was buried in his own breakfast to squint at the rest of them. Jaemin still has no words, his gaze locked hopelessly on Jisung’s downturned face as he struggles for a way to save this.

“Jisung—” Jaemin starts, before Jisung abruptly stands up from the table, wincing at the scrape of the chair on the linoleum and mumbling something about needing to get ready, even though he’s already showered and dressed.

Jaemin doesn’t think it can get much worse, until he hears a low whistle from behind them. Chenle, Mark, and Donghyuck stand by the door, shoes in hand from where they must have come inside just before Jaemin got to the kitchen, and Jaemin suddenly remembers that they’d planned to start their final day of tour walk-throughs by eating breakfast _together_.

Donghyuck tosses his shoes on the rack and moves towards Jisung’s vacant seat. He drops into it, spooning some of Jisung’s rice into his seemingly untouched soup before taking a bite. “Care to share what just happened?” he murmurs through a mouthful, before Renjun smacks him hard in the arm. Jaemin feels a twinge of annoyance; Donghyuck has his own empathy score, and although it’s not nearly as high as Jaemin’s, it’s enough to know he should know better than to ask that question. Mark looks worried, but Chenle just sighs lightly and heads past them towards the bedrooms, obviously headed to talk to Jisung.

Jaemin finds he doesn’t really have an appetite anymore, so he tucks his espresso beans securely back in the pantry and excuses himself to go shower. He hopes the water will clear his head, or give him the right words to say, or help him begin to process how he even _feels_ about seeing himself get _kissed_ from the perspective of _Jisung_ , but the warmth of the shower just reminds him of the dream and Jisung’s effusive, quiet joy.

Jisung had been so anxious at breakfast, though.

Jaemin cranks the shower knob down as cold as it will go and stands there until he starts to shake. It’s ineffectual penance.

* * *

After he dries off, Jaemin realizes he maybe should have taken a change of clothes into the bathroom with him. Chenle and Jisung’s conversation is obviously over; Chenle’s voice is carrying faintly down the hall, whereas Jisung’s emotions are loud, loud, _loud_ , so he must be close. It’s too late, though, and he steps into the hall with a towel around his waist to find Jisung leaned up against the wall beside the bathroom door, arms tightly crossed, eyes pointedly fixed down and a blush still spread on his cheeks. He looks miserable. He’s practically radiating fear and sadness, despite the cool-down time and a visit from Chenle. Jaemin opens his mouth to say something, anything, but Jisung cuts him off in a jumble of words.

“Look, hyung, I don’t know how much you saw, but I’m sorry. You’re too important and I’m so—”

“Jisung—” Jaemin tries, reaching out for Jisung’s elbow and ducking his head slightly, trying to meet Jisung’s eyes under his fringe.

Jisung jerks back like he’s been burned when Jaemin touches him, wincing, one shoulder connecting with the wall in a painful-sounding smack. Jaemin backs up immediately. Jisung’s breathing has picked up, and his eyes are tightly shut, and he feels . . . _pained_. Jaemin has never seen him like this, not because of _him_.

Before Jaemin can try again to speak, Jisung chokes out, “I’ve just been lonely lately, I guess? And my dreams just . . . I’m so sorry, because it made you uncomfortable, obviously, to see it? I mean, you should have seen your face at breakfast, but I promise—I promise I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please don’t be upset.”

Jisung’s eyes are still shut. Whatever else is happening right now, Jaemin can sense that he shouldn’t try to touch him again, but if Jisung thinks that Jaemin is upset because of what he saw in the dream, he can’t just let that go either.

“Jisung, can you look at me? Please?” Jisung opens his eyes and lifts his head to look at Jaemin, although he doesn’t come any closer or relax his stance.

“Our dreams aren’t really in our control, and I don’t jump to conclusions. You don’t have anything to apologize to me for. I’m sorry that I saw something that wasn’t mine to see. I hate that _you’re_ upset. I don’t—” Jisung is still afraid, so Jaemin clearly isn’t getting this out right.

“Jisung,” Jaemin says, ducking slightly to maintain eye contact when Jisung looks like he’s about to glance away again. “There is nothing you can do, or show me, or tell me, ever, that will change the way I care about you. You are as important to me as my own family, and there is nothing in this world that could make me love you any differently than I do right now. Do you get what I mean?”

Jisung’s fear falls away, but his sadness lingers. Jaemin is obviously still missing the mark, so he defaults to his old standby: teasing.

“I mean, if you murdered someone, I might have to reconsider it,” he drawls with a put-upon pout. “But if you had a good reason, I could probably work around it? I mean, I’m _sure_ you’d have a good reason—you wouldn’t commit a crime without a good reason—whoever you killed, they had it coming for sure.”

Jaemin’s rambling earns him a small smile and a choked-out laugh, but Jisung is still sad, and Jaemin gets the distinct sense he’s punching underwater with this conversation. Because this is Jisung— _his_ Jisung—and he doesn’t build walls even when he should. He doesn’t hide things from Jaemin.

Not until now.

“Thanks, Hyung. You don’t have to apologize either; it’s not like you can control what leaks over when we dream.” Jisung finally uncrosses his arms and stands up from the wall, although he doesn’t move any closer to Jaemin. He takes a breath, straightens his posture, and meets Jaemin’s eyes dead on.

“I love you too,” he says softly. Jisung’s lips quirk into a small smile. “Now, I’m going to go finish eating.” His face falls slightly into a wince, probably as he remembers that they had three additional guests this morning for breakfast. “Well . . . assuming there’s anything left.”

Jaemin watches Jisung walk away from him down the hall. The meters between them yawn like a chasm.

* * *

That night, after it’s over, Jaemin can only wonder how he didn’t feel it coming.

Despite whatever happened that morning, nothing lit Jisung up from the inside like performing. Jaemin should have known something was seriously wrong when Jisung wasn’t having fun with his work.

It’s a tour, their tour, all seven of them, and Jisung would normally be the most excited of them all. Instead, as they block out their rehearsal for the day, Jisung radiates frustration and fear, and his tension feels discordant laid over the happiness of the others.

Sometime between the end of breakfast and piling into cars to head to the venue, Jisung stumbled into an uncharacteristically foul mood. He sat in the back row on the way over, insisting on being alone, immediately putting in his earbuds and lowering the hood of his jacket over his eyes.

Things haven’t gotten better during rehearsal. There’s something disjointed in the way Jisung winces every time a track starts to play, in the way he keeps tugging at his shirt collar. Sure, he didn’t want Jaemin to touch him earlier, but something is still _wrong_ with how roughly he jerks away from Mark’s attempts to ruffle his hair and Donghyuck’s pokes and pinches.

“Okay, break! Take fifteen, cool down, be ready to start from after the second VCR when we return,” their director says from his perch in the front row, already reaching for his own water bottle.

Jeno immediately starfishes to the floor on his back, panting as he tries to catch his breath after running “Boom.” He must be aware of how he sounds, because he sticks his tongue out with a grin and Chenle smiles down at him, nudging him with his toe and cooing mocking commands like “roll over” and “shake” as Donghyuck cackles with delight. Beyond them, in the farthest corner of the stage, Jaemin watches as Jisung sinks delicately to the ground, grip tight around his water bottle.

Chenle casts a quick glance in Jisung’s direction, although he doesn’t move away from Jeno. When he’d tried to tease Jisung out of his funk after they got to the venue, he’d been shrugged off with so much force that even Jisung had looked surprised at his reaction. If Jisung won’t even talk to _Chenle_ , they’re in uncharted territory.

When Jisung looks up and finds him staring, Jaemin quickly turns away and walks towards where Mark and Renjun are seated together, leaning back against the moving platform they’ll use for “1, 2, 3.” If Jisung really is angry about something he won’t appreciate it if Jaemin oversteps before he’s ready to talk. Time has taught Jaemin that much.

Jaemin forcefully wiggles his way between them when he arrives, groaning when Renjun yells and swats at him in protest while Mark just laughs. When he’s finally settled between them, head pillowed on Mark’s shoulder and one leg thrown sideways over Renjun’s knees, he raises his gaze again to Jisung, who is hunched over with his eyes closed, arms hugged around his knees. Jisung’s brow is furrowed, the corners of his mouth turned down in a small frown. Jaemin feels a little bit like he’s staring at a stranger, because Jisung is _still_ scared, sad, and frustrated, beyond performance anxiety, more than just nerves. He has no touchstone to discern what this version of Jisung needs in order to feel better, and it’s unnerving.

“So, oh great and mighty Empath,” Renjun comments, swatting lightly at Jaemin’s leg so Jaemin will look at him. “Can you explain why my roommate has barely slept in our room for days and is apparently mad at all of us even though he looks like he’s a strong breeze away from collapsing from exhaustion at any moment?”

Jaemin frowns at him in thought. That would explain why the dreams had stopped, then. Had Jisung been skipping out on sleep to make sure Jaemin stayed out of his head? Had he really been that worried about what Jaemin would think? He knew Jisung had been gaming late a few nights over the last week, but had Jaemin really been so out of touch that he didn’t notice that Jisung wasn’t sleeping at _all_?

“For the _millionth_ time, Renjun. I’m a level three, not a psychic. I came over here to ask you what you all did after breakfast to upset him, so that one of us can fix it.” Plus, it’s not like Jaemin is the only Dream member with a score; Renjun and Donghyuck are both level ones and Jaemin _knows_ Mark is somewhere on the low end of the Empathy scale even if he refuses to talk about it. Mark is adamant that understanding can always be learned, and that kindness is always a choice.

Mark snorts, jostling Jaemin’s head on his shoulder. Jaemin reaches back to smack his thigh lightly in punishment. He keeps his gaze fixed on Renjun though, who is obviously searching his face. Jaemin has no doubt that Renjun can tell that he’s unsettled by the events of the day, without or without his sensitivity.

“It’s not an unreasonable question, Jaemin,” Mark laughs out. “Like, you’re the one who always figures out what’s up with him when the rest of us can’t.”

Jaemin decides to ignore the anxiety those words stir in his gut. Instead, he wriggles so his face is more fully tucked into Mark’s shoulder, readjusting his limbs with an affected huff before replying. Mark and Renjun will see through him—see the distance he’s trying to create from his discomfort with stage-persona dramatics—but they make Jaemin feel better anyways.

“Well, seeing as he no longer _lives with me_ , I haven’t kept up with my daily diary of Jisung’s wants, needs, and mood swings. I was hoping his _actual_ roommate could provide some context clues, but it seems like we’ll all just continue to suffer instead. He clearly doesn’t want to be around any of us right now, not even Chenle.”

Besides, if it’s something to do with what Jaemin saw this morning, that’s not Jaemin’s business to tell.

“He’ll be okay,” Mark says quietly, and Renjun’s gaze finally moves away from Jaemin’s face to focus on Mark instead. “I mean, it’s Jisung. He doesn’t hold grudges; he’ll work through whatever this is eventually. Convincing him he hasn’t ruined our day together later will take more effort than trying to pull him out of whatever funk he’s in.”

Jaemin contemplates the situation as Mark continues to converse with Renjun over his head. Jaemin might overdo it on camera sometimes, with the cooing and the kisses and the baby talk, but he’s used to looking out for Jisung and helping him work through things. On one hand, if Jisung is kissing Jaemin in his dreams, even if he didn’t _mean_ for it to be Jaemin, or for Jaemin to know about it, doesn’t it still mean _something_? If Jisung is lonely, doesn’t he need them to help? ( _Can_ they even help?)

On the other hand, Jisung isn’t a baby, and hasn’t been for a while. Jaemin watched Jisung grow up in front of him; he watched a thoughtful kid grow into his talent, into his voice, into his confidence. Jisung is no longer a teen crying in a practice room and struggling to blow out his birthday candles while Donghyuck coos and Mark ruffles his hair. Jisung is a man, and despite Jaemin’s frustrations, he has to remember that Jisung can take care of himself. If he needs something, he can tell them directly. And, if he really is just in a bad mood and doesn’t want to talk to anyone, then he can come to them when he pulls his head out of his ass.

Having solved none of his problems, Jaemin fidgets again, rolling his face fully into Mark’s shoulder and shutting his eyes, staying there until the members are called back to rehearsal.

As they make their way back to their positions, Jaemin watches as Jisung tenderly pushes himself off the floor, stiffness in his shoulders. When Jisung walks over towards where they’re gathered, he keeps his eyes on the stage, refusing to look at any of them.

“Jisung,” Jaemin whispers. “Why can’t you tell me what happened? Is this about your dream?”

Even though Jaemin is whispering, Jisung flinches at the sound of his voice. At first Jaemin thinks he’s overstepped, but after a long moment, while their staff preps around them, Jisung finally meets Jaemin’s eyes. This close it’s impossible to ignore how incredibly haggard Jisung looks, and Jaemin wonders how he didn’t see it this morning.

“Is it not . . . loud in here to you? Can you not hear that awful buzzing noise?” Jisung rasps out, wincing as he continues. “And the heat . . . why is it so much hotter over here than it was on the edge of the stage?”

Jaemin can only look on in confusion, and Jisung’s frustration worsens. “Can you really not feel it?” he hisses. “Why—“

Jaemin isn’t sure what Jisung was about to ask, because in that moment his eyes widen horrifically before he whips entirely around to face Jeno, tone uncharacteristically loud and sharp as he yells, “Hyung, MOVE.” It startles all of them, just as one of the lights mounted above them smokes and sparks with a series of loud pops, detaching from the scaffolding and plummeting towards the stage.

Everyone else scatters as Jisung launches himself into Jeno, and they tumble to the floor next to where the stage light comes crashing down, still spitting sparks onto the floor.

Jaemin doesn’t even have time to process what just happened before it all goes to shit. He doesn’t make it two steps towards his friends before Jisung rolls off Jeno and cries out, curled into himself where he lies on the stage, hands over his ears. It’s like time stands still for a moment before pain slams into him and Jaemin realizes Jisung is _wailing_. “Stop,” he’s crying out. “Please, make it stop, _please_ —”

They all rush to gather around Jisung, who is flushed and writhing on the stage with hands still over his ears. Jeno pulls himself to his knees next to him, gasping out, “Jisung, fuck, oh my God,” as he raises a hand to his sweaty forehead. When Jeno brushes gently against his skin, Jisung _screams_ , twisting away from the touch, thrashing over and into Chenle’s legs which causes him to let out another wail.

“Back up, everybody back up!” Mark yells over the chaos, the six of them having descended into panic over the sight in front of them. It’s so _loud_ in here, even though it might just be emotional white noise burning static through Jaemin’s mind, but no, wait, _they_ must be loud, because Jisung has started to cry, hands still over his ears, repeatedly begging for it to _stop_ , _please, make it stop_ , only Jaemin has no idea what _it_ is. He has no idea what Jisung needs, his pain and their collective fear crashing through Jaemin’s body, and Jaemin thinks he would be terrified if there was any room left inside him for his own feelings.

Jeno shakily stands and they all manage to stumble back from where they’d crowded around Jisung, still somewhat circling him in but no longer touching him. It seems to help marginally, since Jisung rolls over onto his back, teary eyes trained on the ceiling as he pants, although he’s still clutching his ears tightly. Someone must call for help, because a few moments later a pair of paramedics come running down the arena aisle.

“Back up, please move aside!” yells the first paramedic, pushing past Renjun and falling to her knees beside Jisung, yanking supplies out of her kit. The second medic tries to corral them further away from Jisung, strain in his voice as he asks for space. While they do congregate together, ultimately, none of them move much farther away.

“Please, you’re wasting time, I’m sorry but we can’t leave him, please,” Jaemin hears Renjun plead, but he sounds far away, like light filtered through ocean depths. It’s at this moment the paramedic on the floor with Jisung attempts to take a pulse, one hand on his carotid, and Jaemin watches in shock as Jisung convulses, watches as Donghyuck begins to yell and Renjun starts to cry and Jisung _begs_ for it to _stop, please_ until his body can no longer take it, his eyes opening wide before he crumples flat, limp.

Jaemin watches, numb, as the paramedics check for Jisung’s vitals. He watches as the medical staff pry back an eyelid to shine a flashlight in Jisung’s eye, but Jisung’s gaze is empty and unresponsive. Jaemin can’t feel any emotion from him, although he isn’t sure if that’s because Jisung’s consciousness is quiet or because the other feelings around him are still so _loud_ that he can’t really process anything. He watches as Mark wraps around Jeno to hold him up, watches as Chenle drops to sit on the stage, watches as Donghyuck begins to cry, finally out of words, while Renjun continues to sob into his shoulder.

Jaemin watches as they load Jisung’s limp form onto a stretcher, watches as they wheel him out, watches as the door shuts behind them. He just watches, overwhelmed, as Jisung is taken away.

* * *

“Why won’t you just tell us what’s wrong with him?” Jeno pleads, edging into desperation. It’s well into the night now, hours after Jisung collapsed, but Mark and Donghyuck are still here.

SM must have leverage with the hospital providing Jisung’s treatment, since this doctor was dragged all the way out here just to fill them in on what’s going on. They were waiting for him when he arrived, of course, the six of them crammed around the couch in the Dream dorm with Byungjun-hyung pacing somewhere behind them. Jaemin senses that he’s nervous though, this Park-seonsaengnim, because he’s been deflecting for well over ten minutes; he hasn’t really answered a single one of their questions.

“Well, you see, Jisung-ssi. . .” Park-seonsaengnim trails off and takes his glasses off to rub the bridge of his nose. Weariness is etched into the lines of his face, although Jaemin can’t be sure if it’s due to Jisung’s situation or strain from having to communicate with six very anxious and confused young adults. Jaemin sees Donghyuck shift forward next to him, hands clasped tightly between his knees. Mark simply frowns down at his interlaced fingers, leaning up against the arm of the couch next to Donghyuck’s side. On Jaemin’s other side, Chenle stares straight ahead, arms crossed, even after Renjun drops a hand on his shoulder from his perch on the other sofa arm.

It’s Jeno who speaks again, his shoulders a stiff line where he’s leaned back against Chenle’s legs. “You need to tell us what’s going on. Now. Please.” His tone might be surprising in any other circumstance, but not now, not when Jisung is hurt and Jaemin would know even without his Empathy that Jeno feels helpless.

Park-seonsaengnim slides his glasses back on with a tired sigh, gaze briefly flickering over all of them before settling over their heads and on their manager. “Jisung-ssi has manifested Sentinel-grade sensory abilities, likely in response to the imminent danger to one of your team members earlier today. In trying to protect Jeno-ssi, he suffered his first hypersensitive episode. Once the danger had been circumvented, he was unable to process the continued heightened sensations brought about by his sense manifestation. When the medical staff on site attempted to check his pulse, he hyper-fixated on the touch and it caused him to zone, essentially losing consciousness.”

The word ‘Sentinel’ lands like a punch to Jaemin’s stomach, and he can’t help it as his mind immediately jumps to the worst-case scenario. Sentinels with significant abilities are still fairly rare, but the ones with the greatest sensitivity are usually, well, _employed_ by the military after manifesting, so to speak. Those Sentinels aren’t soft-spoken. They don’t dance like they were born to do it. They don’t hoard half a closetful of ramen as a just-in-case midnight snack, don’t ramble cutely over the kitchen table, don’t tease their hyungs relentlessly or game until three a.m., or flush when they receive praise. Those Sentinels are not anything like Park Jisung.

“He’s only a two-sense, according to the tests so far,” the doctor continues. “And he’s not a particularly high grade in either of them. If he can find a compatible Guide and learn to regulate his sensory experience, he likely won’t require any additional medication or sensory deprivation aids. He should be able to lead a fairly normal life. And so long as that happens, there shouldn’t be any governmental interest in his abilities that would result in his removal from SM Entertainment.”

Jaemin can’t sense it as acutely as he normally can, but the relief in the room is so strong that it overwhelms the numbness for a moment. He feels like he can breathe again, and he hears a choked noise from Jeno, a small exhale from Renjun before the doctor continues.

“So far he’s Sentinel-grade in hearing and touch, which is a bit of an odd combination statistically. Even then, he’s only scored about half of what would be considered military strength. His touch sense is slightly more heightened than hearing. It’s certainly enough to impact his life, but fortunately for you all, not quite high enough to warrant it being, um, _highly suggested_ he join the special forces. We’ll have to wait another twelve hours or so to see if any additional senses manifest, although it would be uncommon at this juncture.”

Jaemin looks away from the doctor and down at his lap. He blinks back what might be the beginnings of tears, trying to process the relief and fear of his members warring in his chest, the blood roaring in his ears. _You’re not going to lose him_ , he thinks. _They didn’t take him away_. He ignores the traitorous voice in the back of his mind that whispers, _at least not yet_.

“How is this even possible?” Mark asks, shifting to prop one thigh up on the couch arm. “Like, how did someone miss this? If we’d known this could happen, we might have been able to help him and not . . . hurt him today.” Jaemin sees Donghyuck lean slightly over and into Mark’s side as he trails off.

“That’s a question for Jisung-ssi, I’m afraid. While his chances of presentation have always been lower, given his genetics and profession, his Sentinel potential was noted on his chart,” replies Park-seonsaengnim, still speaking to Byungjun-hyung. Jaemin isn’t sure how to process that bit of information—they didn’t know because Jisung didn’t _tell them_.

“When can we see him?” Renjun asks after a beat, grip tightened where his hand still sits on Chenle’s shoulder.

“He’s currently in a sensory deprivation chamber until we’re sure he’s stabilized enough to be reintroduced to external stimuli,” the doctor responds, briefly glancing at Renjun before returning his attention to somewhere over their heads. “Until we can get him stable enough to be transferred from the chamber to the main ward, you cannot see him.”

Jaemin feels a trickle of anxiety, his own this time, worm its way forward. “Will he wake up in the deprivation chamber? You don’t understand, you can’t—he’ll be afraid.” He chokes down the bile rising in his throat, too much negative emotion in one day making him physically sick. He knows he’s about to babble but this doctor has to _understand_. “Please, he won’t like the dark and he’ll hate being alone, he’ll _hate_ the silence, please, you have to let us be there with him. We’ll be so quiet, I swear, and we won’t touch him but sir, _please_ , you have to let us—”

“I’m afraid that isn’t an option, not while he’s in the chamber,” Park-seonsaengnim cuts him off, still looking at Byungjun-hyung. “He could wake up there, before his senses completely stabilize, or he could wake up after we’ve moved him. The latter would certainly be easier on Jisung-ssi, but we have no way to know what will actually happen.” Jaemin feels Donghyuck pull his right hand over into Donghyuck’s lap and hold it between his own hands.

“What about a Guide?” bites out Donghyuck, squeezing Jaemin’s hand. “That’s how Sentinels stabilize, right? A Guide talks them out of it? Talks them down? Well, there’s no one Jisung talks to more than us, so how about you look _at us_ instead of _over us_ for two seconds and let us help. There are at least three of us here with a score on the Empathy scale, you can take your pick, but you have to let us be there when he wakes up.”

The doctor slowly glances away from their manager and settles his gaze on Donghyuck, seemingly unimpressed with his tone. “I know it all looks very simple on TV, but unless you completed full Guide certification alongside your vocal training without my knowledge, you cannot help him, Donghyuck-ssi. A trained, certified hospital Guide will be designated to help Jisung-ssi stabilize once he’s conscious. I understand your concern, but the best and only thing you can do to help him is to trust that we know what we’re doing.”

That seems to be all Jeno can handle, because he pushes up off the floor with a soft excuse, brushing past Chenle’s outstretched hand and walking out of the living room. He shuts someone’s bedroom door softly behind him a few moments later.

They all turn their attention back from where they’d watched Jeno’s retreat and Renjun faces the doctor square on, mouth in a tight line. “We’ll be waiting until there’s an update. Until we can see him. Please let us know as soon as possible once he’s out of the chamber.”

Park-seonsaengnim briefly nods at them before standing, and Byungjun-hyung waves him over to show him out. As they go, Jaemin hears words like “sound-proofing” and “thread count” and “white noise.” There’s suddenly a million new things to consider in order to take care of Jisung.

Byungjun-hyung returns to the living room shortly thereafter and drops down into the doctor’s recently-vacated chair. “I’m going to go to the hospital, to check on Jisungie and try to make sure no word of this gets out. Keep your phones on and charged and for now, please stay in the dorms. I’ll let you know as soon as I know something. We’ll make sure he’s okay.” Byungjun-hyung reaches over to Chenle and pats him twice on the knee before he leaves. Then the door shuts behind him, and leaves them in silence once again.

“I think we should go check on Jeno,” Renjun chokes out a few moments later, tears evident in his voice. “Chenle?” Chenle doesn’t respond immediately, but he does tolerate it when Renjun starts to pet his hair.

Renjun glances at Jaemin, and then at Donghyuck. Whatever he was searching for, he seems to find it when Donghyuck silently nods. On any other day Jaemin would be more than able to read Renjun’s intentions, but right now he’s underwater. Donghyuck is still holding Jaemin’s hand, and Jaemin feels a sliver of fear when he thinks about letting go. He knows he needs to get up, to go with Renjun to see about Jeno, fuck, _Jeno_ , who never fails to show up for Jaemin. But Jaemin can’t make himself move.

“Mark-hyung? Are you staying?” Renjun asks, putting a pause on Jaemin’s internal guilt trip.

Mark heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “Nah, I mean, someone has to let the other hyungs know what’s happening. I’ll get a ride back and fill everyone in, but like.” He huffs out another breath, clearly frustrated that he can’t do anything to _fix it_. It’s a different shade of the desperation evidenced by Jeno’s retreat, and kin to the desperation Jaemin knows is waiting to tear through his own rib cage as soon as he’s recovered enough to feel it. “If anything happens, please, call me immediately. I’ll be here in a heartbeat, I don’t care what time it is, just. _Please_. I’ll be back in the morning if there’s no update before then. And please take care of _him_ ,” he adds, with a nod towards the bedroom hall. With a quick squeeze to the back of Donghyuck’s neck and a nod towards Jaemin, Mark pushes off the couch. Jaemin wonders what the everloving fuck he must look like if Mark is afraid to touch him. It’s only then that he realizes that at some point he’s listed over into Donghyuck’s side, covering Donghyuck’s hands with his free one. He looks down and his grip is white-knuckled around Donghyuck’s hold, a stark contrast to the honeyed tones of Donghyuck’s skin.

Mark quickly hugs Renjun before leaning over the back of the couch to wrap his arms around Chenle, murmuring lowly in his ear. Chenle collapses back into Mark and closes his eyes, nodding after a few long moments. Mark straightens up, casts Jaemin one last final, worried look, and heads towards the door to toe on his shoes and hail a ride.

“I’ll stay here, if that’s okay,” Chenle says on a shaky exhale, and Renjun moves around the couch to pull him up using both hands. They move silently away from the living room and down the hall, Renjun once again clinging tightly to Chenle’s shoulder.

After a handful of heartbeats, Jaemin manages to look at Donghyuck, only to find that he’s already looking back at him. Jaemin opens his mouth to speak but no sound comes out.

Jaemin is supposed to know what his members feel even if they don’t; he’s supposed to know when it’s more than they can handle. Otherwise, what’s the point? He’s supposed to _take care_ of Jisung. They all take care of each other, of course they do, but Jisung is different. Jaemin is supposed to _understand him_ , to _protect him_ , but Jaemin failed him on both fronts today. Jisung was taken away, and Jaemin couldn’t feel _anything_ from him when they wheeled him out, and now he’s somewhere else, alone, in a dark, silent, padded room where Jaemin can’t _get to him_ and—

He only realizes his breathing has devolved into shuddering gasps, that the world has gone blurry at the edges, when Donghyuck pulls him forward by their clasped hands. He pulls until Jaemin is leaned over into him and then untangles their hands so he can tuck Jaemin’s face into his neck, reclining back onto the couch arm and pulling Jaemin down over him. He’s saying something, the vibrations of his chest a warm rumble against Jaemin’s sternum, and Jaemin focuses on that sensation until the world comes back into focus.

“You’re okay, Nana. Just breathe, let it go, you’re okay,” Donghyuck croons over and over into the top of his head, arms wrapped around him. Jaemin finally manages to breathe for long enough that he starts to believe him, warm and wrapped in nearly a decade of familiarity.

When Jaemin finds his voice, he manages to choke out—

“What if he can’t control it?”

Once he’s started, it’s easier to keep going. An inhale, shuddering into his lungs as Donghyuck strokes gentle circles on his back. An exhale, which sounds like—

“What if we can’t help him?”

And then, eyes tightly shut, face twisted into Donghyuck’s neck, he drags his ugliest question into the light.

“What if he has to leave?” he whispers into Donghyuck’s skin, almost hoping he won’t be heard.

Donghyuck just nuzzles into the top of his head, clearly choosing his words.

“I don’t know, Jaemin,” he says, after a few long minutes. “But I do know that Jisungie won’t ever quit trying. He’ll find a Guide, and he’ll adapt, and life will be different, maybe, but it will be okay. It’s just one more challenge for us to get through.” He gives Jaemin a gentle squeeze. “We’ll take care of each other.” He scoffs gently before adding, “And if they think they can take Jisung away from us, I’d like to see them try.”

There’s no need to speak, after that. Jaemin and Donghyuck lie there for what seems like an eternity, while Jaemin listens to the rhythm of his chest and soaks in his protectiveness. Despite his itching eyes, Jaemin somehow manages to drift to sleep.

* * *

They make them wait two days to see Jisung, although he still isn’t awake. Jaemin supposes that’s actually a small mercy. After hours and hours of meetings that they weren’t involved in, the company decided to announce the rescheduling of the tour. Jaemin knows Jisung will be devastated when he regains consciousness, but Jaemin has also barely recovered from the emotional onslaught triggered by the last few days as it is. He shouldn’t be borrowing tomorrow’s emotions.

When they arrive at the hospital, fans are packed outside. News of Jisung’s hospitalization has inevitably spread, although no one seems to know exactly what caused it. Again, small mercies. The car ride over had been weirdly quiet, in the way things get when it feels like everything is about to change; the calm before the total upheaval of life as you know it. Mark had tried his best to start conversation more than once, clearly aiming to lighten the mood, but no one but Renjun had the energy to play along and so the ride was spent mostly in relative silence.

Jisung’s room is dim when they finally make their way in, a white noise machine running quietly in the corner. He’s wearing what looks like a jumpsuit and gloves, and the nurse explains that they’re lined with a special material for touch-sensitive individuals—designed to prevent intense localized sensations on their skin. They’ve fitted him for decibel-reduction earplugs as well, which he’ll have to wear until he can learn not to chase errant noises down to a hyperfixation.

The nurse tells them they can speak to him, but they can’t touch him, should keep their speaking tones even, and must silence anything that could cause additional noise in the room. Apparently, the doctors won’t know how likely Jisung is to zone again until he wakes up and they can do further testing.

Jisung’s parents are there, in his room, but Jaemin knows they’ve been at the hospital since they first put him into the deprivation chamber. Jisung’s father gives them a quiet, tired smile, while his mother hugs them tightly one by one. They both feel so afraid, and Jaemin thinks they must be absolutely exhausted from waiting for Jisung to open his eyes.

With the blessing of Jisung’s parents, they pull in some extra chairs from the hallway, and then they sit. They wait. They make small talk to their unresponsive maknae, trying to update Jisung on what he’s missed while omitting anything they think might be too upsetting for his parents to hear. Ultimately, it doesn’t leave them with much to say.

It doesn’t matter anyways, because Jisung doesn’t stir.

A little after lunch time, Jisung’s father says that Jisung’s brother is flying back home from a work trip that afternoon on the first flight he could get once he found out what had happened. They’d been worried about Jisung waking up alone, but with the group here, he thinks maybe they could go meet Jisung’s brother at the airport, shower, get something real to eat, try to get a few hours of sleep, and come back first thing in the morning.

Mark promises Jisung’s parents that Jisung won’t be left alone for a second until they can get back to the hospital. Jisung’s parents leave about an hour later, and then they sit some more. They wait some more. They play quiet games of rock paper scissors to determine who has to make the next run for shitty hospital coffee and cafeteria sandwiches. They play soundless rounds of PUBG on their phones; it’s more therapeutic for some (Chenle), than others (Mark). At one point, Donghyuck steals Jeno to walk down to the hospital gift shop (“So you can carry all the crap I buy back up here, put those gym hours to use.”), and they return half an hour later with a huge bouquet, no less than eleven (11) plushies, and a dazzling amount of decorating supplies.

It’s not too long before they realize they can’t risk using any of the balloons, because they might pop. Jeno seems particularly bothered that he hadn’t thought of that, until Renjun suggests that they could offer them to some of the other families in the building and Chenle drags him out the door to redistribute their frankly excessive number of Spider-Man balloons.

* * *

Eventually, the sun sets, casting Donghyuck’s garish tangles of periwinkle and mud-brown streamers (“Look, I did the best I could with what they had!”) into shades of black and grey. After much discussion, they’d piled the plushies up on Jisung’s windowsill because they were afraid to put them on the bed, and set the bouquet at his bedside. The flowers smell nice, but Jaemin thinks if Jisung does wake up (when he wakes up, _when_ , not _if_ ), he’s going to pass right back out from fright when he sees a monstrous eleven-headed silhouette in his window.

“Alright, we need to discuss plans for the night,” Byungjun-hyung says, poking his head into Jisung’s room from where he’d been posted in the hall. “The nurse told me that Jisung can have two overnight visitors. Figure out the plan and I’ll have someone take the rest of you home.”

Almost immediately after Byungjun-hyung leaves, Chenle blurts out, “I’m staying.” Chenle’s gaze darts around to them one by one but he seems to realize that no one is going to back him up. He meets Jeno’s eyes last, and whatever he sees there has him squaring his shoulders. Chenle opens his mouth, clearly about to argue, but Mark cuts him off.

“When was the last time you ate, Chenle?” asks Mark.

“We had sandwiches a few hours ago?” Chenle retorts. “Don’t you remember? You lost rock paper scissors and had to carry them back up here?”

“Right,” Jeno says, “and _we_ ate them. You didn’t. When was the last time you ate a real meal?” Chenle tightens his jaw, but it doesn’t stop Jeno’s questions. “Or slept? Did you sleep at all last night?” They all know the answer is “no,” because Chenle had stayed in Jisung’s room with Renjun.

“I think Jaemin should stay,” Donghyuck interjects, cutting any impending argument between Jeno and Chenle off at the knees. “If Jisungie starts to wake up, Jaemin is most likely to feel it. Maybe he can help.”

All his members turn to look at Jaemin at once, and the focused attention puts him on his back foot, embarrassed. “I mean, I don’t know if that’s really true, but—” Unbidden, the memory of Donghyuck holding him surfaces. It had been horrible to think that Jisung had gone somewhere that Jaemin couldn’t follow. “I’d like to stay. I want to be here when he wakes up.”

“I’ll stay with Jaemin,” Jeno adds quietly, and then drops his gaze to the floor when Chenle looks upset. “My room is open if people need it.” It’s obvious that by ‘people,’ he mostly means Chenle, because Chenle can’t fall asleep in Jisung’s room and Jeno doesn’t want to force Chenle away from them and out of the dorm just to have a bed to sleep in. Chenle would usually be the first to complain about being babied, but he clearly doesn’t have it in him tonight. In the end, it doesn’t take much effort for Mark and Donghyuck to shepherd him out of the room.

Renjun stays behind for a little bit longer, hands hovering anxiously over Jisung’s bedside, and Jaemin knows it’s killing him that he can’t touch. Renjun’s Empathy has always been more sensitive to negative energy than positive. Even if he can’t pick the emotions up to the intensity or specificity that Jaemin can, it doesn’t change the fact that when they hurt, Renjun hurts too. And out of all of them, Renjun hurts the worst when it’s Jisung. 

“Renjun,” Jaemin murmurs, and Renjun turns to him with watery eyes. Jaemin reaches over to gently grasp Renjun’s hand where it hovers over Jisung’s side. Renjun grips him back tightly, and Jaemin keeps holding on as Jeno wraps around Renjun from behind. After a long moment, Renjun manages to blink through the worst of his tears and gently extracts himself from their hold. “I’ll be here as soon as visiting hours start tomorrow,” he quietly promises, before he slips out the door and into the hall.

It’s quiet after Renjun leaves, but Jaemin and Jeno are no strangers to companionable silence. Their friendship is filled up with all sorts of moments where what they didn’t say was just as important as what they did, although they’ve never been in a silence quite like this. Jaemin is glad he’s with Jeno, though. Even without an Empathy score, Jeno knows him best of all. So when Jeno offers to run down to the nearby 7-Eleven under the pretense of getting them marginally better drinks, Jaemin accepts. Jaemin needs the alone time to process the day’s emotions, but Jeno also wants to do something constructive after waiting around all day. Jaemin can’t sense his feelings to that level of specificity or anything, but with or without his Empathy, Jaemin knows Jeno best too.

Once Jeno gathers his wallet and heads out the door, Jaemin is alone with Jisung for the first time since that awful morning in their dorm hallway. He sits in the darkened room and the residual emotions of the day start to slowly ebb out as Jaemin tries to reconnect with his own feelings. He’s worried, still, and he’s grateful for Jeno, and he’s tired, but he’s mostly okay. So long as he isn’t numb, it’s all okay.

Only then does he turn his focus to Jisung. Jaemin tries to locate a feeling, any feeling at all from him. He finds quiet yet again, which is disheartening at first. But the longer Jaemin sits in that quiet, the more he realizes that this time around it isn’t . . . still. It’s alive. It’s buzzing, humming with a resonance that builds in Jaemin’s gut and travels all the way out through his limbs, warming him from head to toe.

Before he can really think about what he’s doing, Jaemin is moving forward to rest his hand on the edge of Jisung’s bed. He _knows_ what the nurse said about touching him, but whatever Jaemin has inside of him, whatever it is that makes him an Empath, it is _screaming_ at him through the vibrations and demanding that Jisung needs him _closer_. Jaemin takes a breath, and as carefully as possible, inches his hand over towards where Jisung’s own lies prone beside him, palm down, until scant centimeters separate Jaemin’s fingers from Jisung’s.

Jaemin only realizes that he’s been holding his breath when he chokes out a small noise of wonder as Jisung’s hand starts to move towards his, until he’s bumping fingers with Jaemin. Jaemin’s heart almost stops at the contact, but Jisung doesn’t seem to be negatively affected. Instead, he lightly slides his hand over the back of Jaemin’s own, until his left hand folds over Jaemin’s right.

Breathless with an odd sense of deja vu, Jaemin cautiously turns his palm up to rest against Jisung’s gloved one. “Jisung, can you hear me?” Jaemin whispers, tearing his eyes away from their hands to rake across Jisung’s face. Jisung responds by slowly curling his gloved fingers, a gossamer touch tracing the lines of Jaemin’s palm, before moving them up to thread through Jaemin’s own. The humming sensation inside of him reaches a fever pitch, and then falls away.

For the first time in days, Jaemin isn’t bound up by feelings of anger, or fear, or frustration, or anxiety.

Jisung opens his eyes, and Jaemin feels peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost replaced the Atwood quote with: 
> 
> "I can figure it all out, once I hold your hand." -- "Touch" by NCT 127.
> 
> In the end, I thought that was a little too on the nose. (:
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaemin would like the record to reflect that he can say no to Jisung when he wants to. There’s no universe, though, in which he could say no to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a surprise appearance by gamjatang, a dish that Jisung recommended in an Esquire interview last year. Through researching for this fic I realized it’s also a dish my step-aunt made when I was a kid, probably because I was obsessed with carbs and it meant I could eat potatoes in addition to rice. I haven’t seen her in years and years, but now that I understand the additional care and time it took her to make it, it seemed to make sense for this section, especially because my alternate opening quote was “the people who give you their food give you their heart.” 
> 
> Thanks again to Mon and Nat for their invaluable edits, advice, and encouragement.

* * *

**“One must admit, however, that telling apart what is ‘good’ and ‘bad’ in terms of what is edible and what is not is an inescapable need that saves lives. Without these categories we, humans, could not have expanded in such numbers. In order to avoid mistakes costly for [] survival, the categories of good and bad taste and emotional attitudes such as appeal and need for aversion must be communicated verbally. Human tongue might be the place where taste and emotion literally meet each other.”**

**– Ene Vainik, _Emotion Meets Taste: Taste-Motivated Emotion Terms in Estonian_ , 71 Folklore 129, 152 (2018).**

* * *

Jaemin knows that things could be going better, but in all fairness, they could also be going worse. For example, Jisung has at least been conscious since he was released from the hospital. It’s mostly due to his sensory deprivation aids, but it’s still _technically_ an improvement over collapsing in an arena. Hoping to keep him conscious for the foreseeable future, however, the company threw Jisung straight into meetings with Guides as soon as he was declared stable. He’s had four separate sessions with potential matches. So far, none of them have worked out.

_Make that five_ , Jaemin thinks, distracted from editing a photo as he senses Jisung just outside the dorm, two hours too early. Jaemin is in the room he now shares with Renjun, and his AirPods are in to boot. In the past, Jisung would have been well out of Jaemin’s Empathy range, but not now—Jisung’s frustration leaches into Jaemin’s awareness as if he was directly in front of him.

Jaemin refuses to read too much into it. Jisung is going through a major life change, and Jaemin is probably just sensitive to the fact that Jisung needs a little more attention than usual right now. The grass is green, the sky is blue, and Jaemin takes care of Jisung. In his weaker moments, when his own feelings are loudest, Jaemin thinks it might have more to do with the warmth of Jisung’s hand in his at the hospital, or the overwhelming need Jaemin had felt to hold it in the first place. Thankfully, he lives with two other non-Jisungs, both of whom conveniently have unpredictable sleeping habits and their own unresolved emotional messes for when Jaemin needs a distraction.

Jaemin hears Jisung walk in and immediately head for his newly soundproofed solo room (Jaemin plans on milking that sacrifice for _at least_ a month once Jisung is feeling like himself again, maybe two), which means Jaemin’s suspicions about the success of today’s meeting are likely correct. Jaemin saves the file he’s editing and takes a breath to steady himself before pushing up out of his computer chair and walking down the hall. When he gets to the living room, Byungjun-hyung is taking his shoes off near the door, meaning he must have driven Jisung home.

“Hyung?” Jaemin asks, and Byungjun-hyung whips around to look at him.

“Ah, Jaemin-ah,” Byungjun-hyung says. He doesn’t elaborate further, but Jaemin can faintly pick up his concern anyways.

Jaemin really doesn’t want to pry into Jisung’s personal business more than he has to. He probably already knows more about how Jisung thinks he’s doing than Jisung himself would ever share, but it doesn’t change the fact that after Byungjun-hyung leaves it’s Jaemin, Jeno, and Renjun who live here. They have to know what’s going on.

Byungjun-hyung walks into the living room and sinks into a chair, motioning for Jaemin to join him. Between Jisung’s dependence on his reduction earplugs and his closed door down the hall, Byungjun-hyung doesn’t seem too worried about being overheard.

“He didn’t speak a full sentence the entire way home,” Byungjun-hyung says as Jaemin sits across from him on the couch. “I think he’s really beating himself up. Everything starts fine in the session, but as soon as he starts to really narrow down, he can’t hear his anchor as well and he panics.”

Jaemin thinks that Jisung’s panic is understandable, considering the last time he couldn’t pull out of a zone he was unconscious for almost 72 hours. The fact remains, however, that if he can’t find a suitable Guide then he can’t wean off of his sensory deprivation aids, and if he can’t do that, he can’t perform. Jisung has to find a way through this if he wants to keep his career.

“He has another compatibility test scheduled for the day after tomorrow,” Byungjun-hyung continues. “At this rate they’re going to test him with every available certified Guide on the peninsula before we even get close to the concerts.”

Ah, yes, the concerts. The unofficial deadline for Jisung to get his shit together. They have a few months, of course, and how SM was even able to get them an opening Saturday slot in the same _calendar year_ is above Jaemin’s pay grade, but they’ve also added an additional show the following weekend to thank the fans for their patience. Jisung is expected to be there, and to perform, and Jaemin’s not going to think about what happens if neither of those things comes to pass.

“Thanks, Hyung,” Jaemin says, as a door opens down the hall behind him. Jaemin doesn’t need to look to know it’s Jisung, or that he’s headed in their direction, so he just watches Byungjun-hyung as he cranes to look over Jaemin’s shoulder. Jisung must spot them in the living room, because his embarrassment burns in Jaemin’s chest shortly before he hears retreating footsteps and a door shutting closed again.

Byungjun-hyung just sighs and stands, excusing himself to head over to the 127 dorm. Jaemin knows it won’t make it better, but he still can’t help but rub the heel of one palm against the ache in his sternum.

* * *

It’s a half-past midnight, and Jaemin is wide awake.

Renjun isn’t, surprisingly. He occasionally snuffles softly from where he’s passed out in his pile of blankets in the smaller bed across from Jaemin, the end result of the most important game of rock paper scissors Jaemin had ever won. Jaemin squints over at where one of Renjun’s feet peeks slightly out from under the covers before he remembers he should be trying to relax his facial muscles, or something like that. They have a schedule tomorrow morning with Chenle and Jeno, recording some gaming competition for KBS. He tries to loosen up by emptying his mind, starts to count to one hundred sheep, but just ends up wondering what animal YangYang counts before he hits sheep number twenty. In the end, Jaemin can recognize an exercise in futility when he sees it.

Jaemin is awake and he knows that Jisung is awake too. Jisung is a swathe of different shades of frustration and sadness, but they’re all coming through too vibrantly for him to be asleep. He had stayed in his room all evening, not even coming out to eat. Jaemin imagines him sitting on the floor in front of his closet, eating crushed-up ramen straight out of the bag for dinner, a la Donghyuck, and his face scrunches up all over again.

Jaemin asked Imonim to pick up some of the ingredients for gamjatang for him last week when she did her weekly shopping. People get cravings for different things all the time, so he hadn’t thought much of it, even if gamjatang hasn’t ever been one of his favorites. Now, though, it seems much clearer as to why he felt like he needed the ingredients on hand. Carefully, he sits up in bed and throws back the covers, quietly padding out of their room and down to the kitchen.

Jisung doesn’t show up in the time it takes Jaemin to soak the pork bones. He doesn’t come as Jaemin finishes boiling them, or when Jaemin starts to simmer everything together for the broth. Almost two hours later, Jaemin’s eyes have started to sting from tiredness. He wonders if he deluded himself into thinking he _had_ to do all the work of making gamjatang because it was willed by the universe, when in reality nobody was going to even wake up to eat it. He’s just started to peel and quarter the potatoes, cursing his own irrationality and mentally planning how he’s going to pack up all the leftovers, when he hears a door open in the hall.

He doesn’t need to look to know who it is. The press of Jisung’s sadness into Jaemin’s senses is overlaid with confusion as he comes closer.

“Hyung?” Jisung asks, as he steps into the kitchen.

Jaemin hums softly in response so Jisung will know he heard him, but he doesn’t turn around from where he’s peeling a potato next to the stove. He doesn’t want to spook Jisung off like earlier; Jisung’s negative emotions have softened, but they certainly haven’t resolved.

“Why are you peeling a potato at 2:15 in the morning?” Jisung asks.

Jaemin can’t help but smile to himself at that. Trust Jisung to start with the most obvious question first. “Because I’m cooking?” he replies.

Jisung scoffs out a noise that could almost be a laugh, and despite his original intention, Jaemin has to turn to look at him then. Jisung’s arms are crossed, gloves on under an insulated long-sleeved shirt, but he’s smiling. Just barely, but it’s there.

“ _Okay_ ,” Jisung says, stretching the word out as his lips turn up just a bit more in the corners. “Then why are you _cooking_ at 2:15 in the morning?”

Jaemin turns back around to resume his peeling before he responds, relieved to fall into familiar banter after weeks of walking on eggshells. “Because I knew _someone_ in this dorm was going to be hungry at 3:00 since they didn’t eat dinner like a normal person.”

It’s quiet in the kitchen for a moment, soundtracked only by the soft scrape of Jaemin’s continued preparations, and Jaemin perceives affection and mild embarrassment spark up in Jisung as he processes that Jaemin is awake and making food for _him_.

“I knew you were lying about your abilities,” Jisung says eventually, but it sounds a little watery. “Since you can apparently see through walls. Or read minds. Maybe both?”

Jisung’s sadness is still present, but Jaemin cares far more about the positive emotions that have been slowly blooming up around it ever since Jisung walked into the kitchen. “Yeah, well,” Jaemin says, trying to keep himself from too obviously showing his relief that Jisung is at least _happier_ , if not happy. “I guess you better help me out then. Unhelpful ingrates will be subjected to the full extent of my powers,” he adds, before flicking the peeler over his shoulder with a lazy “ _Expelliarmus_.”

When Jisung walks up next to Jaemin at the counter, Jaemin can see out of the corner of his eye that his smile stretches all the way across his face now. “That spell doesn’t even make sense, Hyung,” Jisung teases. “I don’t have a wand; it literally won’t do anything. No wonder you’ve managed to keep it a secret all these years if that’s the best you’ve got.”

Jaemin stops peeling to narrow his eyes at Jisung, jabbing the potato he’s holding towards Jisung’s chest. “Look, I know what you keep in that room, and your options were either dry ramen or jelly candies. Neither is enough for the bottomless pit that doubles as your stomach.” When Jisung just arches an eyebrow, Jaemin continues. “I also cannot _believe_ you’re being this rude to me when I’ve spent the last two hours of my life boiling pork bones,” he complains, and Jisung’s smile falls into a look of surprise as he finally takes in the spread of cookware in front of Jaemin.

“Are you . . .” Jisung looks back at Jaemin, and affection burns to the forefront of his emotions now. “Hyung, are you making gamjatang?” he asks, the tone of his question echoing his appreciation. If he were a stronger Empath, Jaemin might even think it was underscored by something close to wonder. But Jaemin knows his limits, so instead, he looks back down at his potatoes and tries his best not to get swept up in Jisung’s reaction.

“I just—I knew you would be hungry. I also had a feeling you might need someone to talk to. You can say no to one, or both, but I just—I want you to feel better.” Jisung continues to look at him, and Jaemin can feel a flush start burning up his neck and into his ears and the longer he does. He was hoping to cheer Jisung up, but Jaemin wasn’t really expecting either of them to be this affected by it. Jaemin needs a release valve for all this sincerity, so he tacks on, “But if you let all this food go to waste when I’m almost done making it, I cannot guarantee there won’t be consequences.”

Jisung exhales on a short laugh, and the tension of the moment dissipates. “Alright then. I wouldn't want to get cursed. What can I do?” he asks, reaching for Jaemin’s peeler before Jaemin swats near his hand.

“Ah, ah, no—you don’t get anything with a _remotely_ cutting edge. You can start by pulling the cabbage apart, and then you can wash what’s left of the vegetables, if it won’t get your gloves too dirty. We’ll go from there.”

Jisung rolls his eyes but heads towards the fridge to dig out the cabbage anyways.

The rest of their time cooking is spent in relative calm. Once you get Jisung talking it can be hard to get him to stop, but in the grand scheme of things, Jaemin would rather have a contented Jisung talking his ear off than a surly Jisung with nothing to say. Tonight, Jisung seems fine with being quiet, though. After weeks of tension it feels almost like a gift, a strange sort of comfort borne from the darkest part of the night. Jaemin gives gentle instructions, and Jisung hums his responses, and for a while the world seems to narrow to the width of their kitchen. Despite his earlier mental gripes about packing up leftovers, Jaemin is almost reluctant to finally bring the finished gamjatang and rice over to the table while Jisung opens up the side dishes, because he knows that their little peace will shatter soon.

“So,” Jaemin says some time later, after he thinks Jisung’s eaten to the point where he can focus on something other than the food. “Do you want to talk about it?” Jisung’s happiness dims a little, and for a moment Jaemin allows himself to feel like shit for being the one to remind him of his situation, even though somebody had to. He’d stalled for as long as he could.

Jisung just looks at him, scrunching up his face in displeasure before dropping his gaze to his bowl and popping a piece of potato in his mouth. “I—” Jisung seems to remember he shouldn't chew while he speaks, so he swallows before setting his chopsticks down and leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms. “I don’t understand why I can’t make it work,” he says, eyes fixed on the table. “They explained it to me, and there’s no reason why I shouldn’t be able to maintain a connection with any of these Guides.” He flicks a hand back and forth through his bangs, belying his frustration, before he meets Jaemin’s eyes. “We’ve been using heartbeats. I always start to lose them too early though, and I have to zoom back out.”

Jisung pushes his bowl to the side before crossing his arms on the table and dropping his head to rest on top of them. His sadness washes up over Jaemin, the strongest it’s been all day, and Jaemin is beholden to the flood. “I know how much is on the line, Hyung,” Jisung murmurs. “If I can’t find a Guide, then I can’t know for sure that I’ll ever be able to regulate my”—his breath hitches in a small sob—“my senses,” he finishes, voice cracking. “If I can’t regulate my senses, then—” Jisung breaks off again to sniff and clear his throat, but it’s obvious now that he’s fully crying. “If I can’t regulate my senses, then I can’t perform.”

“Jisung—” Jaemin pleads, but Jisung continues to cry. Jaemin crosses to Jisung’s side of the table and starts to wrap his arms around him, before he remembers they’re supposed to touch him as little as possible. He flinches back and drops into the chair next to Jisung, which just makes Jisung cry harder. Jaemin is forced to offer support the only way he can, from a distance, and he hates how powerless he feels. “I’m here, Jisung. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

It feels like the agony goes on forever, even though it can only have been a few minutes. Jisung cries, and Jaemin does the only thing he can do—he sits patiently next to him. Eventually Jisung’s sobs slow down, coming farther and farther apart, until his crying stops entirely. He takes a few moments to just breathe, and Jaemin watches the shudder of his chest until he finally raises his head to look at Jaemin. Jaemin aches to wrap him in a hug, or to run a warm towel across his face for his tears, but he _can’t_.

“Hyung—” Jisung croaks out, before clearing his throat and starting again. “Hyung, I have something to tell you.” At Jaemin’s nod, Jisung continues. “I—I knew it was you out here, the second I opened my door.” Jisung sits up in his chair, just enough to prop his elbows on the table so he can drop his forehead in the palms of his hands. “I knew it was you, just like I think you knew I’d come out here.”

“I—okay,” Jaemin says slowly. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your heartbeat is . . . distinctive?” Jisung says with a sniff. “It’s easier for me to follow than the others.”

Jaemin feels something ominous start to materialize in the pit of his stomach. “My heartbeat is distinct to you?”

“Well, yeah. It’s the sound that pulled me out of a coma, so.” Jisung sniffs again, before leaning back in his chair to look at Jaemin. “It’s a little hard to forget.”

The admission stalls out Jaemin’s mental faculties for a second, because _what_? “My _heartbeat_?” he asks. “Are you—Jisung, are you sure about that?” Wasn’t it because Jaemin held his hand, even though he was told not to? Because Jaemin literally couldn’t stop himself? Jaemin realizes too late that he should probably be trying to stay calm given that Jisung can _hear his heartbeat right now_.

Jisung clearly notices Jaemin’s panic because he frowns at him slightly, but he’s obviously confused, so it seems that Jaemin’s secret is still safe. “Pretty sure, Hyung. It was like—I was in the dark, right? But I could hear something far away. It was faint at first, but the longer I listened, the clearer it got. And then I could see—you know when you’re lying in the grass on a sunny day, and your eyes are closed, but you can still sort of see the sun behind your eyelids?” Jisung’s starting to pick up some steam with his words now, and Jaemin would normally feel relieved, taking it as a sign that he was feeling better, if he wasn’t also still trying to tamp down the alarming sense that he’s fucked something up.

“There was a glow, Hyung,” Jisung continues. “It got brighter as the rhythm got louder, until I realized it was a heartbeat. And once I could finally see what was going on around me, you were the only one there. Since then I just . . . know. Sometimes when I leave, I can even still hear it in the elevator. I mean”—Jisung stills for a moment and closes his eyes, eyebrows scrunched in concentration—“the plugs make it harder, but I can hear Renjun-hyung right now, since he’s closer, and Jeno-hyung if I stretch a little. When they’re both around but I don’t exactly know where, I might be able to guess who is who.” Jisung opens his eyes, and the sincerity Jaemin sees there catches him off guard. “But I always know when it’s you, Hyung. Whether you’re in front of me or not.”

Jaemin sits with that bombshell for a moment, but Jisung doesn’t push him, even when Jaemin’s silence starts to noticeably unnerve him. _Is this why you can’t find a Guide?_ Jaemin thinks. “Have you told anyone else that?” he asks instead.

“No, but I’m telling you now because—I know it’s a lot to ask, but I’ve been thinking.” Jisung’s hands flex in his lap, but his gaze remains steady as he looks at Jaemin. “I think the problem with these new Guides is that I don’t really trust any of them to help me. There’s just too much pressure, and there’s not enough time in these meetings for me to even _learn_ to trust them. But with you—I know you won’t drop me, Hyung. Not if you can help it.”

Jaemin is trying his best to stay level, he really is, but he also knows for sure now what Jisung is trying to ask him, and he’s not sure he’s ready for it. “I mean, your heartbeat clearly worked before,” Jisung continues. “I’m not—Hyung, I’m not asking for forever, or anything, but for now I think you’re my best option. If you’ll help me.”

Jisung’s request makes sense. Jaemin knows that, but the enormity of what might happen if Jaemin _can’t_ do what Jisung’s asking still knocks him speechless.

Jaemin’s silence seems to get the better of Jisung this time, and the strength of his rising anxiety washes out Jaemin’s own emotions as he rushes to continue his explanation. “Plus, if we could make it work, it would solve a lot of our other problems, right? We wouldn’t have to bring anyone new into the dorm. We wouldn’t have to travel with a babysitter in close proximity. It would be easier to keep the whole thing under wraps, like the company wants.” Jisung offers him a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not trying to pressure you,” he adds, and Jaemin can feel that he really does mean it. He’s not angry or frustrated with Jaemin. If anything, he feels almost contrite under the nervousness, as if he’s apologetic about having to ask Jaemin for this. “It’s really okay if you don’t want to. But if you’re open to the idea, Hyung, I really think we should try.”

Jaemin would like the record to reflect that he _can_ say no to Jisung when he wants to. There’s no universe, though, in which he could say no to this.

“I’ll talk to Byungjun-hyung after our schedule tomorrow,” Jaemin says, and Jisung’s excitement spikes so high Jaemin swears his own heart beats irregularly for a second. He quickly tacks on, “But that doesn’t mean it will work, Jisung. I’m only a level three; we might not be compatible.”

The admonition doesn’t do anything to dampen Jisung’s hope. “I know, Hyung,” he says, even if Jaemin isn’t really sure that he does. “Thank you for being willing to try.” There it is again—the sincerity. It’s one of the things Jaemin loves most about Jisung, but right now, it’s hard to face. Instead, Jaemin clears his throat and starts to push back from the table.

“Are you finished?” he asks. _You’re welcome_ seems insufficient for what he’s just agreed to, anyways. “Come on, help me clean all this up.” Jisung pouts a little at the idea of doing dishes, seemingly without realizing it, and a smile creeps back on Jaemin’s face despite the bone-deep tiredness he feels. Jisung catches himself a second later and grumbles out a “shut up” before Jaemin can start to make fun of him for it. He stands to retrieve storage bowls for the leftovers, but Jaemin can still see a faint blush high on his cheeks.

After the food is packed away in the fridge and the dishes are washed and laid out to dry, Jaemin follows Jisung back down the hall towards their bedrooms. When they reach Jisung’s door, though, Jaemin nearly smacks into him after he stops abruptly in the hallway.

“Hyung, can—” Jisung starts, one hand clutching his doorknob tightly. “Can I ask for _one_ more thing?”

Jaemin grunts in acknowledgement, willing to do whatever it takes at this point to get to his bed, but despite his exhaustion his focus automatically sharpens when Jisung gets nervous. Jaemin watches as he fidgets with the doorknob for a moment, gathering enough resolve to ask his question.

“Can you sleep in here tonight?” Jisung asks.

“Oh, Jisung.” Jaemin’s heart _hurts_. “We can’t share a bed. I can’t touch you.”

“I don’t mean that,” Jisung adds, shaking his head and pulling away from the door to face Jaemin. “I can throw something together on the floor for me to sleep on. It’ll be like a sleepover,” he jokes, but it falls a little flat under the weight of how badly he obviously wants Jaemin to stay. “It’s just—with all the dampeners, I can’t really hear _anything_ in my room. I mean, I get it, there’s no guarantee without them that I won’t pick up a faint siren in the distance and chase it into a zone on accident, since I don’t have an anchor. But I’ve always had a roommate, and now I can’t hear any of you. It’s too quiet.”

Jaemin can say no. He _can_.

“I just think your heartbeat would help,” Jisung says.

Jaemin won’t, though.

“Okay,” Jaemin agrees, trying not to show just how much all of this makes him want to rage at the universe for doing this to their youngest. He’s been poked and pinched and cuddled by them since he was barely in middle school; Jaemin hadn’t really considered how it might affect Jisung to be cut off from them in this way. “But even if you’re on the floor, I am too. I’m not taking your bed, just in case you end up needing your brand-new fancy Sentinel mattress,” Jaemin teases, and Jisung just rolls his eyes, even though he can’t quite keep a grin off his face. “We’ll just build a big pillow wall in case someone rolls over; it will be fine. I hope Renjun has taught you to stop snoring by now.”

Renjun hasn’t, but as Jisung drops off to sleep next to him on the floor half an hour later, Jaemin can’t find it in himself to actually mind. He sets an alarm for a few hours later, since he won’t be able to hear Renjun’s this time through the wall, and follows Jisung off to sleep.

That night, Jisung dreams of a terrible storm at sea, alone on a small vessel in waters too deep to navigate. Just as Jisung thinks he’ll be cast adrift far from home, a steady sound filters in—a one-two cadence that calms the storm beneath his boat.

When Jaemin’s alarm goes off next morning, Jisung sits up to look at him over the stack of pillows between them, and Jaemin doesn’t mention what he saw. Jisung meets his eyes, though, and Jaemin can tell Jisung knows he was there. There’s no fear or anxiety in him this time. Instead, Jisung just smiles gently at him before standing up to grab one of his brand new Pima cotton bath towels (a spoiled Sentinel, he is) and heading off to steal the first shower he technically doesn’t even need.

* * *

SM doesn’t hesitate to slide Jaemin into Guide training as soon as possible. The suits in charge seem to realize, much like Jisung had, that if Jisung can work with a Guide who also happens to be in NCT Dream, it solves a lot of their short-term problems. That’s how Jaemin finds himself in an Empath’s office two days later to begin a crash-course on Guiding.

“Would you like something to drink?” Kim-seonsaengnim asks as she heads towards a table by the window, a small kettle sitting on a hot plate next to an assortment of colorful tea cups.

“I’m fine, but thank you,” Jaemin responds. He could probably use something to do with his hands aside from picking at the outer seam of his track pants, but he hasn’t been able to read _anything_ from his Guidance instructor since he walked in the door and it makes him feel unsteady. Jaemin isn’t used to flying blind.

He watches Kim-seonsaengnim carefully as she prepares her tea and returns to the chair across from him, placing her cup and saucer gently on the coffee table before she sits and meets his gaze. Jaemin crosses his legs and folds his hands over one knee, hoping that if he stops fidgeting for two seconds it might help him calm down.

“I know this must feel overwhelming to you,” Kim-seonsaengnim starts, her tone gentle in a way that somehow doesn’t feel condescending. “I’m here to do everything I can to help you learn to Guide as fast as possible. As our first lesson, though, the most important thing for any Guide to remember is that they are the calm in the storm.” She crosses her legs to mirror Jaemin’s posture, and it makes him feel seen in a way he doesn’t quite like. “Your nervousness is a powerful feeling, Jaemin-ssi. It is understandable and it certainly doesn’t bother me, but it is the exact opposite of what a Sentinel needs in a zone.”

_Awesome, it’s been eleven minutes and I’m already fucking it up,_ Jaemin thinks to himself, but his self-deprication must be evident to Kim-seonsaengnim (how strong of an Empath _is_ his instructor, anyways?), because she offers him a close-lipped smile and crosses to sit next to him on the couch, reaching a hand to hover over both of his where they're knitted tightly together.

“May I?” she asks, and when Jaemin nods she pulls one of his hands over to hold it. “Today, you’re going to start learning to find and maintain calm within yourself. As Empaths, we’re already used to compartmentalizing what others feel; this is just the other side of that coin. It’s prioritizing and understanding what _you’re_ feeling in a given moment, so that you can regulate your reaction to those emotions when the Sentinel you’re Guiding is particularly vulnerable. Does that make sense?”

Jaemin starts to say yes, before he remembers that Kim-seonsaengnim is probably very aware that he’s still confused. It seems like a bad idea to start out his relationship with her on the basis of lies. “Not really,” he admits instead, and Kim-seonsaengnim smiles at him, a full one this time, like she’s pleased with his honesty.

“Let me rephrase that,” she says, squeezing his hand. “Guides must be calm because Sentinels have to fixate on their Guides to draw them out of a zone. If a Guide reacts physically to a situation in a way that indicates something is wrong, then the Sentinel’s protective instincts will not allow them to reduce their senses back to a normal level.”

The conversation so far feels a little bit like being at SOPA all over again, Jaemin struggling to keep up because he’s pressed for time and just doesn’t have the hours available to him to really understand how the pieces he has in his hands fit into the bigger picture. Kim-seonsaengnim picks up on his discomfort immediately, of course, but God it’s really going to take some time for Jaemin to get used to that.

“Here’s an example, then—Jisung-ssi is accelerated in hearing and touch, right?” she asks, and Jaemin nods in response. “That means he’s sensitive to things like body temperature, or perspiration, or heartbeat, or even the sound of someone’s breathing. Sometimes, if the situation allows for it, he might tune in to your voice as an anchor. So, let’s take fear, for instance. What happens to the human body when we’re really afraid?”

“Your heart beats faster?” Jaemin says, and although he means it as a statement it comes out more like a question. Kim-seonsaengnim just nods in encouragement. “You might breathe faster too. Sometimes people sweat, I think?”

“All of that is right, Jaemin-ssi,” Kim-seonsaengnim confirms, and Jaemin feels a little more sure-footed. “If you’re afraid while Jisung-ssi is zoned, then you might have any of those reactions. Jisung-ssi will be able to pick up on all of them, though, and if he thinks you’re in danger, his Sentinel nature won’t let him zoom out. Instinctually, he’ll think he needs to be dialed down in order to protect you.”

That’s—well, it’s not like Jaemin didn’t know what he was signing up for. It’s still jarring to hear it said so plainly though, laid out in black and white. Jisung isn’t an Empath, but he will be able to pick things up now that he wouldn’t have before, and that level of attention will be hyper-focused on Jaemin.

It’s an uncomfortable thought, but Jaemin has to remind himself that like Jisung said, this isn’t forever. It’s just to buy Jisung some time to find a more suitable match down the road, one for the long term. How much could really happen in a few months, anyway? When Jaemin finally tunes out of his thoughts and back into reality, Kim-seonsaengnim is looking at him, patiently waiting for him to work through the jumble in his head.

Jaemin flushes, embarrassed to be caught out. “I’m so sorry, Seonsaengnim,” he rushes out with a small bow, but Kim-seonsaengnim just waves him off.

“None of that, Jaemin-ssi,” she says. “This is your space to learn. However, this is also why we’ll be working together before you can move to partnered exercises. The best way to start is simple: I’m going to ask you some questions.” Kim-seonsaengnim leans over to pick up her teacup with one hand, but she still hasn’t let go of Jaemin with the other, instead stretching uncomfortably to reach over the table. She reacts to Jaemin’s confusion from watching her without even looking back at him. “All Empathy is heightened by touch, Jaemin-ssi, even for the strongest of us,” she says, finally grabbing her teacup and squeezing his hand before leaning back against the couch. “The point of all of this is for me to get to know you better, of course, but also to give you a chance to practice processing and then managing how you react to your emotions as you answer my questions. Holding hands will help keep both of us grounded.”

Jaemin can’t help it—he’s still nervous, despite knowing he shouldn’t be, but Kim-seonsaengnim doesn’t chide him for it.

“No one gets this perfect in a day,” she says, crossing her legs and squeezing his hand once more. “Don’t worry, we’ll start with an easy one. What do you know about Sentinels?”

It’s not a complicated question. Jaemin still feels the need to take a deep breath before answering though, willing himself to relax. Kim-seonsaengnim is going to help him, if he can unclench enough to let her. “Sentinels have super senses, or at least, one sense is heightened compared to how the rest of us usually are,” Jaemin starts. He’s still worried he’s going to sound stupid, though; most of what he knows is from books and movies.

“Ah, let’s stop for a moment,” Kim-seonsaengnim says, leaning over to set her teacup down on the coffee table, her saucer apparently too much work to reach at the moment, and turning on the couch to face Jaemin more directly. “How are you feeling right now?”

“I’m . . . embarrassed,” Jaemin mumbles. “I don’t think I know enough about this.”

“Anything else?” Kim-seonsaengnim replies. “You’re in a safe space, here. The only feelings you have to worry about are your own. You were nervous earlier, and you’re embarrassed now, but you’re also feeling something else, below the embarrassment. What is it?”

“It’s . . .” Jaemin shifts on the couch, uncomfortable. Whatever else it is he’s supposedly feeling, Kim-seonsaengmin knows what it is, even if he’s unaware. Jaemin is getting the full experience of what it’s like to be on the other end of his gift, only stronger. Turnabout’s fair play, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. “I’m uncomfortable that you seem to know what I’m feeling better than I do,” Jaemin says finally, and Kim-seonsaengmin just squeezes his hand again.

“That’s right, Jaemin-ssi, but that’s on the surface. Focus on the sensations around and inside of you. Start with the physical—intentionally notice the pressure points of your body against the couch, how it feels to hold my hand, and how your feet are grounded into the floor. Feel the push and pull of your breathing. Sit with what you can feel, all of it, and try to really _understand_ what’s happening in your body.”

Jaemin can’t fully shake off the sense that he’s really in _way_ over his head, but he uncrosses his legs and heaves a breath anyways. They sit together in silence for ten seconds, and Jaemin closes his eyes. Twenty. Jaemin feels the weight of his body as it sinks into the sofa cushions, consciously steadies the pattern of his breathing. Thirty seconds. Forty.

Sure enough, after a minute of sitting with his own perceptions, Jaemin becomes aware of a new sense of . . . discomfort. It’s not physical. He’s comfortable as he’s seated. Kim-seonsaengnim’s palm is dry against his. He’s discomfited emotionally, then, but Jaemin can’t tell exactly _what_ he feels that he wasn’t already feeling earlier. Frustration materializes, but Jaemin just acknowledges it and tries to let it go, refocusing his attention back to the other nagging _wrong_ sensation inside.

“I’m—” Jaemin breaks off, the indiscernible haze of his negative emotion finally starting to clarify the longer he sits with it. “I think I’m scared,” he says a few moments later.

“There,” Kim-seonsaengnim encourages. “I knew you could do it. Can you tell me why?”

“I don’t—” Jaemin feels tears sting the backs of his eyes, and—no. _No._ Absolutely not.

“What’s going on, Jaemin-ssi?” Kim-seonsaengnim asks, but her voice is calm—steady in the face of his emotion.

It reminds Jaemin of his mother after he’d lost an animal he brought home, too sick or injured to be healed by just a boy with a too-big heart who didn’t quite understand why he felt so _much_.

Against Jaemin’s wishes, a tear slips out the corner of one eye, and he blinks both eyes back open to look at Kim-seonsaengnim. She doesn’t look worried, or pitying, but she also doesn’t look disinterested.

“I’m listening, Jaemin-ssi. I’m just holding my feelings out of your space,” she says with a small smile. “Do you want to tell me what just happened?”

“I just don’t normally cry,” Jaemin says, looking away from Kim-seonsaengnim’s face to where she’s still holding his hand. “I can’t help anyone else with their emotions if I’m too busy drowning in mine,” he says with a shrug. He means for it to land lightly, but he’s not sure why he tried. It’s not like Kim-seonsaengnim can’t tell he isn’t in the mood for jokes.

“Okay,” Kim-seonsaengnim says, stroking over the back of Jaemin’s knuckles with her thumb. “We can certainly talk about that. But first, can you tell me why you wanted to cry when you realized you were scared?”

“Because I have to figure all this out to keep Jisung with us, until he can find a permanent match.” Jaemin swallows, before looking back at Kim-seonsaengnim. “And I don’t know if I can.”

Kim-seonsaengnim finally lets go of his hand, and Jaemin feels the loss more acutely than he’d imagined he would half an hour ago. It’s only so she can walk over to her desk for a box of tissues, bringing them back over to the coffee table before retaking her seat. Jaemin is embarrassed at the gesture, feeling like he’s all of nine years old again and crying over a bird with a broken wing. He feels exposed in a way that he hasn’t felt in a long, long time.

“Jaemin-ssi, you’re being asked to do an incredible amount of learning in a comparably short time. It’s okay if you feel afraid. You’re _allowed_ to have feelings, particularly in here with me.” Jaemin still hasn’t moved to take a tissue, so Kim-seonsaengnim plucks one out of the box for him, and he mumbles a quiet “thank you” before taking it and wiping at his eyes. “It’s not so much _what_ we feel as Guides that matters, but rather how we process those feelings and react to them. In fact, understanding your feelings quickly so you can control your reaction is a huge part of being a Guide.”

Jaemin has no doubt that she knows what she’s talking about, but the prospect of all that emotional labor sounds beyond exhausting.

“Believe me,” Kim-seonsaengnim encourages. “I understand that dealing with other people’s emotions all day means that you don’t necessarily want to spend your free time poking at your own, but your feelings deserve to be acknowledged too. It’s my hope that by working together, and later on, with Jisung-ssi, you’ll become more comfortable with that idea.”

Jaemin’s not sure that the idea of laying out his deepest feelings, particularly to _Jisung_ , will ever be anything less than mortifying. That’s arguably the best thing about being an Empath—he can just anticipate what someone else needs rather than having to waste time talking about how everyone _feels_. Kim-seonsaengnim doesn’t seem to need nor require an agreement with her assessment, though, as she pushes on.

“I can’t make any guarantees, Jaemin-ssi. But if you stay true to the heart you’ve shown me so far, I think you’ll be able to Guide Jisung successfully, even if you’re technically a little undermatched.” Kim-seonsaengnim pats his knee in support, before returning to her original chair on the other side of the coffee table. “We’ll keep practicing your reactions, but for the rest of today we’re just going to walk through some basic, foundational breathing exercises and mindfulness techniques. Let me know when you’re ready.”

Jaemin wasn’t ready the other night in the kitchen, and he’s not quite sure that he’ll ever be, but it’s not like Jisung really got the option to prepare for his side of the deal, either. Ultimately, at the end of the day, that means Jaemin has to be ready, whether he feels like it or not.

* * *

They spend the next few hours working on techniques for focus, and Jaemin feels completely spent by the time their session ends. Kim-seonsaengnim tells Byungjun-hyung that Jaemin did well when he arrives to pick Jaemin up, though, and Jaemin can’t help but to be a little relieved to hear she wasn’t just blowing smoke for his sake.

“How did it go?” Jisung asks, the second Jaemin walks in the door. He doesn’t even wait until Byungjun-hyung has closed the door behind them, up off the couch and headed towards Jaemin as he unties his shoes.

He’s so hopeful, and for a moment Jaemin remembers wind-bitten cheeks and earnest kisses, dreamed under the blaze of a thousand arcade lights. He must wait too long to answer, though, because Byungjun-hyung answers instead. “Kim-seonsaengnim said it went well,” he says, moving past Jaemin towards the kitchen. Imonim usually comes by around lunch, and she always leaves extra for Byungjun-hyung on days she knows he’ll be around.

“Ah, you worked with Kim-seonsaengnim? She’s so smart, isn’t she? It’s crazy what she can do.” Jisung smirks at Jaemin. “Makes you seem Futures League in comparison.”

“Yah!” Jaemin laughs out, scrunching up his face and swatting in the direction of Jisung’s arm as he heads into the dorm. “Don’t be rude.”

Jisung is still smirking, particularly since Jaemin can’t actually make good on the physical threat, but he trails along after Jaemin and drops down next to him on the couch anyways.

“Did you meet Jingyu-noona too? She’s Kim-seonsaengnim’s Sentinel.”

“Jingyu- _noona_?” Jaemin asks, and Jisung reddens slightly.

“She said we were past the point of formalities since she’s almost seen me pass out half a dozen times,” Jisung explains with a wince, and Jaemin’s chest twinges. There’s so much more than his pride on the line if he can’t figure out how to Guide Jisung.

“I didn’t meet her,” Jaemin says. “But I’m going back to see Kim-seonsaengnim as often as I can for the next few weeks. She thinks if we keep progressing like we did today, I’ll be ready to work in a partnered session with you soon.”

“Hyung, really?” Jisung asks, and the force of his grin makes Jaemin wish he could tug on a cheek or two. “That’s amazing! This is amazing!”

“I mean, I still have a lot of work to do,” Jaemin says. “But she hasn’t ruled me out just yet.” Jaemin ends up smiling back when Jisung’s joy proves too contagious for him to do anything else.

Jisung reaches over towards Jaemin, before he remembers that he isn’t supposed to. He pulls back then, turning to press his shoulders squarely against the back of the couch and crossing his arms, looking away from Jaemin. Jaemin studies the side of his face intently, waiting for a spike of sadness or hurt to accompany the withdrawal. It doesn’t come, though. Jisung is smiling down at his crossed arms, still floating on the knowledge that things with Jaemin might work out.

“Thank you, Hyung,” Jisung says, and Jaemin tries to apply what he learned earlier to manage his anxiety response, because they’ve still got a _long_ way to go before Jisung should thank Jaemin for anything. He keeps his breathing even. He focuses on where he’s grounded in his surroundings and tries to let go of the worries that aren’t in his control. It must work somewhat, or Jisung must not be paying close enough attention, because Jisung’s mood doesn’t fluctuate. Instead, he turns his head towards Jaemin, fidgeting as he plays with the sleeves of his shirt. “I was thinking about trying to take a nap before dinner,” Jisung says, still not meeting Jaemin’s eyes. “Would you—would you come with me?”

Part of Jaemin just wants a moment for himself—just one moment after the last few weeks that doesn’t feel centered on what Jisung needs. The part that’s much louder knows that he’ll just feel guilty later for resting in his own room if Jisung can’t do the same in his. The last few days have proven that Jisung sleeps better with him around.

“You worked hard today, Hyung,” Jisung adds, pinching the fabric of his shirtsleeve between his gloved fingers, still unable to look directly at Jaemin. “I know you’re tired. You’re trying to help me, but I want to help you, too.”

All things considered, it’s not much of a choice.

“Yeah, okay,” Jaemin says, and he graciously ignores the happiness that flares up in Jisung once he realizes his ploy to make Jaemin rest has worked out. “Lead the way,” Jaemin says, standing up with a flourish of his hands in the direction of the hallway. Jisung does look up at him then, finally, but he doesn’t move off the couch, freezing them in the moment. Jisung is openly studying his face, but even with his Empathy, Jaemin can’t puzzle out what he might be looking for.

“Only if you promise you’ll actually follow,” Jisung quietly replies. Jaemin’s not entirely sure anymore that they’re still talking about the nap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. smell part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is that Jisung is a lot of things, and it’s not always easy for Jaemin to acknowledge them or how they make him feel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a discussion of Jaemin’s feelings about his hiatus and (briefly) about graduation/6Dream activities. I have tried to treat these discussions with as much love as I have for Jaemin himself, but if you’d rather avoid these topics as they fit within the context of this story please stop reading at “You sound like you’re speaking from experience, now,” she says, squeezing his hand,” and resume at “Kim-seonsaengnim studies him after he finishes, most likely trying to see if Jaemin’s physical reactions will remain stable,” in the first section of text.
> 
> It turns out these two have a lot more to say than I’d initially realized, so please heed the increase in the number of expected chapters and the additional tags!
> 
> Huge thanks once again go to Mon and Nat for cheering me on and helping me get this chapter into shape.

* * *

**“[P]roactive interference is very strong in odor memory while retroactive interference is weak. That is, the first association made to an odor is very hard to unlearn and subsequent associations to the same scent are difficult to form.” Rachel S. Herz, _A Naturalistic Analysis of Autobiographical Memories Triggered by Olfactory Visual and Auditory Stimuli_ , 29 Chemical Senses 217, 224 (March 2004).**

* * *

A month and some change later, Jaemin thinks he’s gotten at least a little bit better at managing any negative emotions that might affect him physically, even if his sessions with Kim-seonsaengnim have gotten progressively more difficult as a result. Their topics of conversation started off simply, like what he’d believed about the monster in his closet as a child or how he felt watching a recent sensational drama, before they worked up to more complex issues, like dropping out of school and being in the public eye as an introverted Empath.

Kim-seonsaengnim has been kind and encouraging, but she also hasn’t brought up the one or two issues that a simple Naver search would reveal as sure-fire ammunition. Jaemin can’t help but wonder if she’s saving them for some sort of fucked up Empathy final exam. Getting to the hard stuff is sort of the entire point—if he can regulate his reactions while reliving the worst of what he’s been through, then it’s less likely (in theory) that he’ll be thrown off his game if he needs to push through strong emotions to Guide. After the relationship he’s forged with Kim-seonsaengnim in the last few weeks, though, the idea still feels a little bit like a betrayal.

Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, Kim-seonsaengnim walks through her office door, a large travel mug in one hand and an iced americano from the coffee shop across the street in the other. She sets the americano on the coffee table in front of Jaemin before crossing to sit in the chair across from him, cheeks flushed as she tames her wind-swept bob with one hand. Jaemin can’t help but eye the coffee with suspicion, which just makes Kim-seonsaengnim laugh.

“It’s a celebratory americano, Jaemin-ssi,” she says, taking a sip from her own drink before shrugging slightly. “Well, it’s that and a motivational tool.”

Jaemin picks up his drink, fiddling with the straw for a moment before taking a sip. It’s strong—Kim-seonsaengnim must have paid for extra shots. When Jaemin looks up at her, she’s clearly pleased that she got his order right.

“We’re moving into joint sessions with Jisung-ssi next week,” she says, and Jaemin immediately chokes on his mouthful.

While he struggles to cough most of the misplaced coffee out of his airways, Kim-seonsaengnim looks on in sympathy. “Already?” Jaemin finally croaks out, before coughing once more, dabbing coffee from his face with the back of his hand. Kim-seonsaengnim raises an eyebrow, putting down her mug before sliding a tissue box his way over the coffee table, and he hastily grabs a few to finish cleaning up.

As Jaemin recovers from his accidental near-drowning, Kim-seonsaengnim’s expression compresses into something pinched, lips pressed together as if she wants to say something she knows she shouldn’t. She _still_ hasn’t relaxed whatever leash keeps her emotions tightly bound to her in their sessions, but he can tell that she’s carefully considering her words. “It’s a bit sooner than I’d hoped,” she says with a sigh. “But we’re a little less than four months from your concerts now, and your company has made it clear that we need to leave time for a contingency match in the event you and Jisung-ssi can’t work together after all.” 

Jaemin can’t help but wince at her honesty, as a trickle of panic starts to well up inside him. Kim-seonsaengnim considers him carefully, evaluating Jaemin, but she’s taught him well. He holds her eyes and focuses on the feeling of his breathing, willing it into steadiness. He takes note of the physical sensations tying him to the present moment. He acknowledges that his emotion exists, and then he moves through it just like she taught him, her voice ringing in his mind even as she sits silent.

_Identity. What are you feeling, Jaemin-ssi?_ Panic.

_Causation. Can you identify the cause?_ He doesn’t want to fail Jisung.

_Utility. Is your emotion helpful or instructive in this situation?_ Not really, no.

_Control. If you know the cause, or if the emotion isn’t constructive, then what can you do that is within your control to resolve it?_ He can learn how to regulate his emotional reactions so that if Jisung enters a zone, he can safely Guide him out.

_Are you doing everything you can to take care of the things that are within your control?_ Honestly, he’s not sure how he can try much harder than he already is.

“So if we’re doing everything within our control,” Kim-seonsaengnim says then, her lips turned up in one corner. “What do we do with the things that are out of our control?”

Jaemin takes a deep breath, a steady inhale and a strong exhale, and sits for a moment. Once he feels stabilized in his hard-fought serenity, he offers her a small smile in return.

_Release._ “We let them go.”

Kim-seonsaengnim breaks into a full smile, and Jaemin feels an emotion leach into his awareness that isn’t his own. He looks around for the arrival of another person as the feeling unfolds in his chest, until he realizes that for the first time ever, Kim-seonsaengnim is sharing her feelings with him. Sharing her _pride_. Regardless of what happens in the future, what he’s done here makes her proud, and something about that knowledge lifts a weight from Jaemin’s shoulders.

He’s almost sad to feel her start to slip out of his awareness after a moment, until it’s just him again, alone with his own feelings. “Today will be our last one-on-one session before we begin paired exercises, and it’s probably not going to be easy,” Kim-seonsaengnim says. “We’re going to shift focus a bit. We’ll still be working with your emotions, but we’re also going to talk about Jisung’s.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to do that when he’s actually here?” Jaemin asks. He doesn’t want to talk behind Jisung’s back, after all. _Or maybe you just don’t want to talk about his contentment when he smiles at you first thing in the morning_ , a little voice nags, the same voice that keeps bringing up rollercoasters and dream-kisses.

Kim-seonsaengnim seems amused by whatever emotions he’s leaking as he thinks, because she huffs out a short laugh. “I’m not asking you for any state secrets, Jaemin-ssi.” She moves to sit next to him on the couch, and at this point, it’s almost automatic to reach for her hand as she settles onto the sofa cushions. “I have confidence in you, but you’re still a level three. Even if you know what general emotion Jisung-ssi is feeling, without a full-strength bond the limits of your Empathy won’t tell you why or how he feels it. That makes it even more important to understand what drives him—you need to foresee what might trip him into a zone before he gets there. Even the most controlled Sentinels have bad days.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Jaemin prods, but Kim-seonsaengnim stays as locked down as ever.

“Quit stalling,” she teases, waving him off with her free hand. “This is about Jisung-ssi. Even before he manifested, parts of his personality would have still been shaped by his nature. Why did he manifest?”

“To keep Jeno from getting hurt by that stage light?”

Kim-seonsaengnim just nods before stretching over the coffee table for her travel mug, hand never leaving Jaemin’s grip. She never remembers to bring her drink over to the sofa side, and Jaemin could remind her, but at this point watching her strain to reach it is an oddly comforting ritual—a quiet reminder that as powerful as she is, she’s also still human, just like him. Kim-seonsaengnim straightens up and takes a sip of her drink before purposely meeting Jaemin’s eyes. “Instinctually, Sentinels are driven by a need to protect their tribe—their family unit. A long time ago, when the world was a little more primal, that instinct was more necessary, but we can still see it in some ways today. So, with this in mind, how does Jisung-ssi protect you? Your members? What do his instincts look like?”

The questions throw Jaemin for a moment, because it’s so much easier to think about how he protects Jisung than the other way around. “Well, Jisung . . . he doesn’t like for us to do things that might be dangerous? He’s always telling us to watch out and to be careful, even if it’s not really necessary.” Jaemin can’t help but remember the time he tried to take a picture of a cat in the street and Jisung had begged him not to get too close, as if Jaemin was approaching a wild tiger and not a house pet that might, at most, leave him with a few scratches. “He also nags us if he thinks we’re not taking care of ourselves. He can’t stand it if we get hurt. He’ll ask us if we’re okay a million times before he’ll relax.”

Jaemin realizes too late the door he just opened, and despite knowing Kim-seonsaengnim will see right through it, he still feels the impulse to deflect. “He can be a real terror when he feels like it,” he jokes, but Kim-seonsaengnim is like a bloodhound with a scent when it comes to the things Jaemin would rather not talk about and this topic isn’t any different.

“You sound like _you’re_ speaking from experience, now,” she says, squeezing his hand, and there it is. The first gauntlet thrown.

Jaemin thinks he’s made as much peace with his injury—with the opportunities and achievements and precious time he missed—as he ever will, but that doesn’t make it any easier to revisit it. “A little bit,” he manages, but he knows they both know that’s the understatement of the century.

“Take your time, and try to remember that time for me, please. How did your injury make you feel?”

“Angry,” Jaemin answers easily enough. “Abandoned, sometimes.” He swallows hard and fidgets, restless, rubbing his free hand up and down his thigh. “Useless. I don’t really feel that way now, though. Not nearly as often, at least.”

“I can sense that,” Kim-seonsaengnim says. “Thank you for being honest. If it’s okay with you, though, I’d like to talk about the feeling you didn’t mention.”

Fuck. _Fuck_.

Kim-seonsaengnim just holds his hand, waiting for him to work through his reaction.

_Identity._

_Causation._

_Utility._

_Control._

_Release._

By the time Jaemin finally finishes clearing out the things outside his control, he feels steady enough to answer. “Afraid,” he mumbles. Kim-seonsaengnim offers him an encouraging nod, injecting a little bit of reassurance into the intentionally blank space of his chest. “I was always afraid.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“It’s terrifying, thinking your dream might be gone,” Jaemin answers. He’s almost surprised that the admission doesn’t spin him out again, but he somehow keeps his body in check. He really has made progress, after all. “That’s why I can’t—it can’t happen to him. I can’t let it.”

Jaemin doesn’t offer further clarification, but Kim-seonsaengnim doesn’t need it.

“We’ll bring it back to Jisung-ssi, then. How else might his instinct have shown itself after your injury?”

The answer comes easily enough, because Jisung had been so earnestly excited when Jaemin finally returned for “Go.” In the face of Jaemin’s desperation to prove that his absence hadn’t put him irrevocably behind, the emotional reminders that his members still wanted him there dragged him through the worst of his insecurities, but something about Jisung’s elation cut closer to the bone. Jaemin remembers him telling everyone on VLive how he had planned to take care of Jaemin during promotions, even if he was too far away on that particular day. At the time Jaemin hadn’t taken it seriously, almost embarrassed to have any more attention drawn to his situation.

Now that they know Jisung is a Sentinel, Jaemin can’t help but turn that era over again in his mind. Had it hurt Jisung for Jaemin to not take him seriously, or to ignore his declaration of protection? In a room with two dozen other people, could Jaemin have even really picked out how Jisung had felt, if he’d hurt him? Or had Jaemin just willfully ignored his feelings in favor of his own, too busy tamping down on his own hurt pride to think about anything else?

He’s almost startled when Kim-seonsaengnim squeezes his hand, jerking him back into the moment, and he realizes he's hunched over slightly. His face feels hot, and he can feel the first pricks of sweat on the back of his neck. “Where were you, Jaemin?”

Jaemin swallows, correcting his posture and gently shaking out his limbs, although he never lets go of Kim-seonsaengnim. _Identity. Causation. Utility. Control. Release._ “Shame,” he gets out, trying his best to breathe evenly.

“Mmhm,” Kim-seonsaengnim hums in acknowledgement, “do you want to talk about it?”

“Jisung—”

Jisung badgers him to come eat instead of sacrificing his meal time to cook for others. Jisung makes them take alternate turns between the bed and the mattress on the floor, worried for no real reason about Jaemin’s back. Jisung still waits up to be the first person to tell him happy birthday. Jisung absent-mindedly fixes Jaemin’s hair and proudly shows off their outfits on the days they match, excited to stand beside Jaemin even in the little things. Jisung always looks for him first, always asks for his opinion or guidance, so that Jaemin always knows he’s wanted in any room he walks into.

The truth is that Jisung is a lot of things, and it’s not always easy for Jaemin to acknowledge them or how they make him feel.

“His instinct just isn’t something I’ve paid enough attention to, I guess,” he finishes. It sounds lame, even to him, but it’s about as far as he can go at the moment and not lose his grip on his physical reactions again.

Kim-seonsaengnim must deem the line of questioning to be extinguished enough to offer him an out, because she studies him for a moment before blessedly changing the topic. “I know that time was difficult for you, and I’m sorry for your suffering. Rather than your injury, then, let’s talk about your group as a whole. Jisung-ssi clearly considers his members to be part of his family, otherwise he wouldn’t have manifested to protect Jeno-ssi. Can you think of how his instincts might orient around keeping your group—his family—protected?”

It wasn’t an out, after all. It was gauntlet number two, thrown in the dirt at Jaemin’s feet next to its twin, and he braces for impact once again.

“Jisung . . . hurts when we’re kept apart,” he starts. “The members, I mean. We’ve even lost a member, once or twice. For a long time, none of us were sure we’d ever be able to stay together.” His own feelings about their former instability threaten to pull him under for a moment—his frustration at the circumstances, his desperation to prove they were worth keeping—but it’s over now, and Jaemin just moves through processing them before refocusing on Jisung. Jaemin remembers how Jisung broke down on day three of The Dream Show when Donghyuck spoke about Mark. He also remembers how _loud_ Jisung’s happiness had been when it was announced they’d be seven again, for good. “It’s better now than it used to be. He’s learned to manage regardless of who else is around, but he’s his brightest when we’re all together.”

Kim-seonsaengnim studies him after he finishes, most likely trying to see if Jaemin’s physical reactions will remain stable. When he passes the unspoken test, she squeezes his hand, and Jaemin can’t help the wash of relief that pours through him, tingling in his fingers and toes.

“I know today was hard, Jaemin-ah, but thank you for your willingness. It sounds, then, like Jisung-ssi reacts strongly to situations where he feels like his family is incomplete, or when he perceives them to be vulnerable to physical danger. Understanding these sorts of drivers will be crucial for you as his Guide.”

Jaemin has yet to totally get used to the sense of loss he feels when Kim-seonsaengnim lets go of his hand, but it doesn’t feel quite so destabilizing this time as she walks towards her desk to collect her purse and keys from a drawer.

“Seonsaengnim?” he asks, but she just motions for him to stand.

“This calls for more than coffee,” she says, digging through her purse for a moment before she seems to realize that it’s futile and pulls her wallet out of her pants pocket with a small noise of triumph. “Do you like ramen? Let’s go get ramen.”

She throws her purse over her shoulder and strides over to tug him off the couch. “Come _on_ already, if you want me to feed you before your manager gets here,” she jokes. Jaemin takes it for the mood lightener it’s clearly meant to be, faking dramatics over standing up, groaning all the while.

“Whatever did I do to deserve free ramen, Seonsaengnim?” he teases, but he feels himself start to flush up through his neck while she regards him for a moment. She’s still holding one of his hands between both of hers.

“You were honest. You’ve worked hard. You’re strong, and you’re ready,” she says. “And it’s Noona, Jaemin-ah. Seolhee-noona. Come on, we’re wasting daylight.”

* * *

Seolhee-noona takes them to a small ramen shop tucked a few blocks away from her office building. She is immediately recognized by the owner when they arrive, an older woman with noticeable laugh lines and a remarkably even temperament who ushers them to a table in the very back.

Once they’re seated, Seolhee-noona orders “half the regular” from her with a smile, whatever that means. The owner departs shortly thereafter, leaving nothing but calm in her wake, and something about the encounter wriggles in the back of Jaemin’s mind. After a few minutes of small talk, he finally has to ask. “Noona, is she—” He breaks off, glancing around for onlookers before deciding to play it safe. “Is she like us?”

“Mmhm,” Seolhee-noona responds. “She’s remarkably steady for someone who deals with customers all day, isn’t she? She’s always been kind to me, even though I’ve tried to explain that I would never hold a bad day against her.” Seolhee-noona reaches for the water pitcher on the table, filling Jaemin’s glass before filling her own. “She cares about us feeling at ease here.”

“Half the regular” is brought out to them in the form of two steaming bowls of noodles piled high with braised pork belly, and Jaemin’s mouth drops open of its own volition before he looks up at Seolhee-noona in surprise. She just laughs at him, a bright, open sound, before motioning for him to dig in. “Jingyu eats like a Quarter Horse; she can put away three on her own. She likes to joke that we could keep the place in business just with her patronage, but she can be a bit self-important like that.” Seolhee-noona snorts. “You’ll see soon enough, I suppose.”

She shakes her head gently before raising a frankly enormous portion of noodles to her lips, and it’s so different from the professional distance she maintained when they first started that Jaemin can’t help but be pleasantly surprised. It’s nice to think he’s at least earned her familiarity, if not her friendship. He smiles down at his own bowl, feeling the best he has since the moment Jisung first woke up, and picks up his own chopsticks.

The rest of their meal passes almost too quickly. Jaemin was worried that it might be difficult to hold a conversation with someone who knows all the worst parts of your existence but not something as simple as your favorite color, but Seolhee-noona is even easier to talk to outside of her office. She even lets just a bit of her emotions go again as they talk about photography (a shared passion, it turns out), what albums Jaemin’s listening to these days, her upcoming vacation—it’s so easy that it’s almost inevitable that they’re late by the time they return.

Jaemin opens the door to the office building for Seolhee-noona with a slight bow and a grin, waving her forward with a saccharine “ _Noona_.” She just rolls her eyes at the show before walking into the lobby—and almost runs straight into Jisung, who has appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He bows gently to her with a murmured “Seonsaengnim,” before he straightens to look at Jaemin, his confusion reflected in the furrow of his brow. He must have been waiting with Byungjun-hyung, who Jaemin now notices is present and seated in the lobby’s waiting area next to a compact, athletic-looking woman in Adidas track pants and a sleek, high ponytail.

“My apologies,” Seolhee-noona says, inclining her head towards Byungjun-hyung. “We went for ramen and lost track of time.”

Jisung’s mouth drops open as his confusion gives way to indignation. It’s almost comical, what with the way it’s a mirror image of the feelings and expression of the woman seated behind him. She jumps to her feet and starts towards them with a “yah, Kim Seolhee!” Jaemin can’t help but notice then just how short she really is comparatively, easily a head below Seolhee-noona and the top of her ponytail barely rising to the lettering of the pink Tennessee shirt Jisung has on over his insulated layer (stolen from the NCT 2020 stylists years ago with nothing more than a pout and a please). “You cheater!” she complains, crossing two well-muscled arms across her chest. “Sunyoung-ajumma can’t have a favorite, you know the rule. Plus, you didn’t bring anything back for me! Or my star student,” she adds, nudging Jisung with one elbow while he goes shy at the moniker. Jaemin automatically tenses up at the sight, but Jisung seems unharmed by the touch. “We’re supposed to be a team, here.” A lightbulb goes on in Jaemin’s head as he clues back into the conversation and the puzzle pieces of this woman’s identity fall into place.

Seolhee-noona just rolls her eyes again, tucking her hands in her pants pockets. “We’re not technically a team until next week, Jingyu,” she says, but she lets a bit of affection loose into the space between them and sends a small wink in Jaemin’s direction so he knows she’s not serious. Jaemin sends her a mischievous eyebrow wiggle in return, but Jisung must not be in on the joke, because his mood sours into a mild mix of sadness and anxiety at the turn in their conversation.

After weeks in close proximity with her, Jaemin can tell almost immediately when Seolhee-noona picks up on Jisung’s change. Her eyes flick back and forth twice between them, but when Jaemin turns to Jisung to look for whatever she’s seeing, Jisung is simply looking back at him, brow furrowed once again. He can tell that Seolhee-noona is trained on _him_ now, but if he’s supposed to be picking something else up from Jisung, she’s going to be sorely disappointed. “I’m only joking,” she says then, and Jaemin feels her eyes fall away from his face as Jisung breaks eye contact to look over at her. “And no more ‘Seonsaengnim’ for you either, Jisung-ah. If you can forgive me for coming around a bit slower than my Sentinel, you’re more than welcome to call me noona too.”

Jisung flusters even worse than before, and it’s so effortlessly adorable that Jaemin can’t help but be endeared as Jisung mutters a “thank you, Noona.” He’s still a little anxious, but it seems to be receding, and it gives way to full embarrassment when Jingyu-seonsaengnim wails out, “Oh my god, stop being so cute, you can’t be cuter for her than me!”

“Maybe you’re just not as charming as you think, Jingyu,” Seolhee-noona teases, redirecting the other woman’s attention and saving Jisung from a series of attempted pokes into his midsection. “That’s why Sunyoung-ajumma likes me better, but we can get takeout on the way home if it makes you feel like you have a shot at evening the score.”

Jingyu-seonsaengnim opens her mouth to respond, but behind them Byungjun-hyung lets out a loud sigh and pushes to his feet, twirling his keys once around his finger. Jaemin thinks he hears her mutter something about _Empathy bias_ before she turns to Jisung, reaching up on her toes to place her hand at the juncture where his neck meets his torso, half shirt and half skin. Jaemin’s eyes go wide at the contact, startled, but Jisung doesn’t seem affected at all other than to feel happy, grinning at whatever he sees in Jingyu-seonsaengnim’s face. “You did really well today, Jisung-ah. Keep practicing, but you’re doing great. I’ll see you next week.”

She turns to wave in farewell to Byungjun-hyung then, before crossing to Seolhee-noona and looping an arm through hers. She’s so much shorter than her Guide that the effort doesn’t even dislodge Seolhee-noona’s hand from its place in her pocket, but even so, Jingyu-seonsaengnim looms larger than life. “Nice to meet you, Jaemin-ssi,” she adds then with a tilt of her head in his direction. “I’m Jingyu-noona. I’m sorry that Seolhee was so horribly rude and didn’t officially introduce us, but I look forward to working with you. We’re going to get takeout now, be safe going home!”

“Is everything locked up?” Seolhee-noona asks, remaining immobile as Jingyu-noona tugs on her arm in the direction of the door.

“Yes, you worry-wart. I even used your spare key to double-check that all your lights were turned off, since you took your sweet time getting back. Now let’s _go_.” Seolhee-noona moves this time when Jingyu-noona pulls on her arm, and Jaemin can only watch as they walk side by side to the front door, Seolhee-noona’s stride shortened to walk perfectly in step with her Sentinel.

When Jaemin finally turns away from their retreating forms, it’s to find Jisung looking back at him, an odd look on his face. “What?” he asks, and Jisung pouts, a little bit of sadness crossing over.

“Hyung—” he stops, huffing out through his nose and pressing his lips together before continuing. “Did you really not bring me anything?”

Jaemin barks out a laugh, stepping to Jisung’s side and leaning his head to one shoulder, pouting and blinking coquettishly as Jisung pretends to retch and looks away. “Aww, don’t be mad at Hyungie, Jisung,” he coos. Jisung is embarrassed now, and feeling a little affectionate despite it, and in normal times that combination means Jisung would love nothing more than to plant his palm into Jaemin’s forehead and push him away while Jaemin complains. But, these aren’t normal times; instead, Byungjun-hyung clears his throat, and the two of them sober up enough to follow him out to the car.

* * *

Jisung is relatively quiet that night as they pull his old mattress out into the floor to get ready for bed, a well-worn routine at this point. They’ve talked about rearranging the furniture to bring their old bunk beds in, but by the time both of them get home in the evenings, it never seems important enough to spend what’s left of their energy on it.

Instead, after the first week of Jaemin spending almost every night in Jisung’s room, Jaemin had snuck into his room for his phone charger only to find his favorite blanket neatly folded on his desk, his stuffed rabbit perched carefully on top, and his body pillow leaned up against his desk chair. Jaemin’s initial good luck with rock paper scissors turned out not to matter, since Renjun was cozied up in the bigger bed, clearly planning to stay for the long haul _._ He hadn’t looked up from whatever he was drawing when Jaemin came in, but that didn’t mean Jaemin wasn’t still caught out. Technically, no one was supposed to be in Jisung’s room when he had his earplugs out. Jisung has a hard time sleeping with them in, though, and Jaemin had obviously been in there overnight for the last week—it’s not that hard to do the math. But Renjun loves Jisung dearly, and regardless, Renjun is neither unobservant nor a rat. He’d only called out a soft “take care of each other” when Jaemin left with his bedding and bunny, charger forgotten for the moment, and that had been that.

“How strong _is_ Jingyu-noona, anyways?” Jaemin asks now, as Jisung scrolls through his phone with one hand while he pulls the glove off the other with his teeth, probably in search of their list of whose turn it is to sleep on the floor. It’s Jisung’s turn, but if he’s skipped a name or forgotten to write it down, Jaemin isn’t going to tell. Jaemin still hates the idea of putting Jisung at risk of a zone, even if Jisung has reassured him that he’s helping. The company had shelled out for that nice new mattress just for Jisung’s touch-sensitivity, after all. “If she’s bonded with Seolhee-noona she’s got to be pretty intense.”

Jisung squints at his phone for a moment where he stands near the light switch, and Jaemin uses his non-response as an opportunity to place his rabbit onto the bed on the floor. He starts to sink onto the mattress before Jisung notices the movement and glares over at him, pointing one long, accusatory finger in his direction.

“Don’t even think about it, Hyung,” Jisung says, somehow catching his glove in the bend of his arm when it inevitably falls out of his mouth. “It’s my turn.” Jaemin sighs and rises up off his knees to stand, grabbing his bunny by one arm—time has proven there’s no use in arguing with Jisung on this. Jisung smirks at him, switching his hold on his phone before tugging off his other glove like an overgrown puppy with a chew toy. He tosses both gloves on the desk next to his earplugs before typing away on his phone. Jaemin thinks he’s probably supposed to be annoyed, but Jisung’s obvious satisfaction at his perceived victory, over _Jaemin_ of all people, is somehow also endearing.

Jaemin slides into his bed for the night as Jisung turns off the lights, listening as Jisung drops to the floor and climbs underneath the covers. Jaemin belatedly realizes he left his favorite blanket down there on accident. He watches now as Jisung snuggles down under it, illuminated by the glow of his phone, content as he presses his nose to the soft fabric. The blanket isn’t Sentinel-grade, the only surviving bedding in the room that isn’t, but Jisung doesn’t seem to mind. “Yah, Park Jisung. Are you going to answer my question, or are you going let me stay up wondering all night?”

Jisung scoffs, eyes still fixed on his phone as he taps away on his screen. “If you can’t sleep you’ll just go get Jeno-hyung once he gets home and bike it out.” He taps one final time and clicks his screen off before he rolls over onto his back and drops his phone to his chest with a thump. “At the very least he’ll open the door if you knock.”

The rest of them have tried to go about life with Jisung as normally as possible, but Jeno’s been struggling. Jaemin knows Jeno is just worried, compounded by a misplaced sense of responsibility for the whole situation, and he doesn’t want to let Jisung see it. The two of them usually spend so much time together, though, that it’s been hard watching them fall out of orbit. Jeno’s mostly been going elsewhere to cope, gaming with Donghyuck and spending some nights at Chenle’s. Jaemin would bet good money that Jisung had just been texting with Chenle about that very topic, and Jaemin feels a little bad for Chenle, caught in between the rock of his best friend and the hard place of his—whatever Jeno is. Even when Jeno is at home, it isn’t necessarily odd for him to stay holed up in his room, but it is odd that Jisung no longer has a free pass to enter whenever he wants.

The first time Jaemin had tried to sneak out, about two weeks into their new sleeping arrangements, Jisung had woken up immediately. It probably should have been an obvious result, given Jisung’s whole super-hearing thing. Jaemin had felt guilty about it, chasing a piece of his former normalcy when Jisung didn’t have that option but Jisung hadn’t held it against him. _Go, Hyung,_ he’d murmured, rubbing one eye blearily with the back of his hand. _I think I can make it one night without you._ Jisung had tried to offer him a smile, but an emotion akin to longing, dulled by sleep, had washed up in Jaemin’s chest as he added, _Jeno-hyung needs you too._

“Jisung—” Jaemin winces, not entirely sure how to talk to him when he’s like this—hurt, and frustrated, and clearly upset with himself for it.

“Sorry, Hyung,” Jisung says, saving Jaemin from trying to cobble together a response. “That’s not fair.” Jaemin hears him sigh in the darkness, and even without any light, he knows the exact shade of sadness sketched on Jisung’s face. “Jingyu-noona was a four-sense when she was in the military, to answer your question. Apparently there are less than a few thousand people in the world with that many military-grade Sentinel-strength senses, and even fewer with all five; she was pretty powerful.”

“Was?”

“Jingyu-noona was in some sort of accident. She lost a lot of her sight in one eye and all her hearing in one ear. She was honorably discharged, along with Kim—Seolhee-noona, since they’re bonded. Now they help other Guides and Sentinels.”

“She’s a lot—shorter than I imagined,” he admits with a grimace, much to Jisung’s audible delight.

“Yeah,” Jisung laughs. “Byungjun-hyung thought Seolhee-noona was the Sentinel the first time he dropped me off, which—you’ve seen Jingyu-noona in action. It was hilarious. He still can’t really look her in the eye, I think he’s still embarrassed.” Jaemin watches as Jisung’s phone lights up with a notification, and his smile forms a secondary burst of brightness in the dark. “She’s tough as nails, though. She could definitely out-bench you, and Jeno-hyung too.” The pang of Jisung’s sadness that leaks into the silence that follows makes Jaemin clutch his bunny just a little tighter under his chin, a poor substitute for hugging the person who actually needs it.

“What are your sessions with her even like?” Jaemin asks, trying to sound casual. He has to swallow around the end of the sentence though, unable to hide that this is something he’s been thinking about for a while, and Jisung rolls over to face him as his phone screen goes dark once again. 

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about for next week, Hyung,” he says, cutting right to the issue belied by the uneven thump of Jaemin’s heart in asking the question, the one that Jaemin had actively ignored. Jaemin can’t help but hate it a little, being perceived like that, even if he understands that it’s a massively hypocritical instinct. “Since we can’t do as much depth training without a real Guide, we mostly focus on staying present and not chasing after things with my senses. She’ll introduce a stimulus and when I recognize it, I have to restrain the urge to extend my senses and go down after it.”

“Is that why she was able to touch your skin today?” Jaemin asks.

“I knew you noticed that,” Jisung murmurs. “It freaked you out when it happened.” Jaemin stays silent, worried that if he opens his mouth his unfounded annoyance at the comment might come spilling out, and Jisung doesn’t deserve that. It’s just like when Seolhee-noona read his feelings for the first time—it’s a part of their reality, for now, that he has to get used to. He agreed to do this, and for Jisung he’d make the same choices all over again, but knowing his alarm was sensed so keenly makes him feel like an animal caught in a steel trap, only he can’t just gnaw off his emotions to get free. “Yeah,” Jisung continues, answering Jaemin’s question and cutting off his pity party in the same breath. “When I’m relaxed or I can reasonably anticipate that something’s coming, I’m pretty good now at not chasing the sensation. It’s mostly the surprising or stressful situations that I still need help with, like not reacting when something catches me off guard or when there’s a lot going on at once.”

“So, provided I don’t scare you half to death any time soon, it’s safer for me to be in here, then?”

“Hyung, I already told you that it’s fine that you’re in here.”

“It’s fine with you, Jisung. That’s not the same as it being fine.”

“Yeah, well, about that.” Jaemin hears Jisung roll over, and even in the dark, he _knows_ Jisung isn’t facing him for whatever he’s about to say, given his sudden influx of anxiety and embarrassment. “It really is okay. The noonas have known for a while.”

Jaemin sits up sharply, turning his phone flashlight on Jisung where he’s curling up like a pillbug in the floor. Sure enough, he’s facing away from Jaemin, everything but the crown of his head hidden under Jaemin’s blanket.

“You wanna run that by me again, Park Jisung?” It comes out a little bit more threatening than Jaemin intended, but he doesn’t feel particularly bad about it at the moment, not when he’s been worried about this for _weeks_.

“Look, it just slipped out!” Jisung cries, voice muffled by the blanket. “Jingyu-noona noticed I had better focus, and I said it’s probably because I’d been sleeping better, and the next thing I knew it was all out there.” Jisung rolls over and sits up then, squinting into Jaemin’s flashlight with one palm raised, trying to shield his face. “I only found out afterwards that apparently she’s terrible at keeping anything from Seolhee-noona.”

“They’re a bonded Guide and Sentinel, Jisung!” Jaemin cries, voice arguably closer to a screech—thank God for soundproofing. “Of course they’re bad at secrets!” Jaemin drops his phone to the bed and searches around for a moment, eyes tracking over his bunny and Jisung’s incredibly nice new Sentinel-approved pillow before he realizes that (1) those are his only two options for retribution and (2) he can’t sacrifice his bunny. He picks up the pillow by one end as Jisung eyes him warily. “I have been worried sick,” he intones with a straight face. “And I just found out today that apparently you _can_ be touched in limited capacities, so I need you to be straight up with me; will you be okay if and when I hit you with this?”

Jisung whines, hands coming up to interlace over the crown of his head before he slouches down defensively. “I mean, yeah,” he starts, before looking up at Jaemin. “But I don’t really see why—”

“Great,” Jaemin says, cutting him off, and he watches as Jisung’s eyes widen before he leans over and soundly thwacks him in the shoulder with one end of the pillow.

“Hyung, hey, ow, I’m sorry!” Jisung wails in between whacks, until Jaemin feels satisfied that he’s suffered an appropriate amount. Jaemin straightens back up into a seated position then, pillow still fisted tightly in his lap and strangely out of breath as he takes in the damage he’s caused. Jisung’s mouth is hanging open, plush and flushed and shellshocked, and some of his hair has tufted up on one side from the draft created by Jaemin’s assault. He’s so unbelievably _cute_ , despite it all.

Jaemin can’t help the warmth that sparks up inside him then as he starts to laugh, the reality of the situation setting in. He just _touched_ Jisung; via pillow-proxy, sure, but it’s been over two months since Jisung manifested, and that stupid, short, one-sided pillow fight feels like the closest they’ve come to normal in all that time. After a moment, Jisung starts to laugh too, the corners of his lips drawing up into the heart-shaped smile they only see when he’s really, truly happy as he tries to smooth down his hair.

When Jisung’s emotions hit him in full force a beat later, Jaemin’s inner warmth smolders into a burn—a fire stoked by Jisung’s hope and his happiness and how much he _cares_ for Jaemin in that moment. It makes Jaemin feel weirdly squirmy, so he presses the pillow firmly back behind his own head and flops back down onto the bed, fighting down the urge to kick his feet under the covers like a teenager with a—no, nope, that way lies overly dramatic comparisons and incorrect little voices who read too much into dreams.

Jisung loves Jaemin, but that’s always been the case, and it feels good to be loved, but that’s true of all types of love, and sure, they’re increasingly aware of one another these days, but that’s a necessity of the job at the moment. Jaemin would be remiss to let their burgeoning connection as Sentinel and Guide trick his brain into shading the way Jisung loves him into an image that isn’t real, or vice versa. Jisung can’t stay grounded if Jaemin isn’t.

He belatedly notices, then, that his phone flashlight is still shining straight up at the ceiling from where he threw it down onto the bed, out of his reach. But grabbing for it to turn it off means he’ll have to sit up, which means he might have to look at Jisung again, and he’s not quite sure his feelings are ordered enough for that at the moment. Jisung has stopped laughing but his emotions haven’t ebbed, and his stare is nearly tangible where it fixes on Jaemin.

Fuck, Jaemin hasn’t been checking _any_ of his physical reactions for the last few minutes either, and who the fuck knows what Jisung thinks he’s picked up on in that time. The discomfort dumps a bucket of cold water on his earlier fire, leaving nothing behind but ash and mild anxiety.

“What made them say it was okay?” Jaemin asks, willing his breathing into a steady pattern as he focuses up at the spot of light on his ceiling. He knows it’s killing his battery but his phone charger is on the other side of the room and like hell is Jaemin getting up for _anything_ at this point. Let his phone die; Jisung can set the alarm for once. “When you left the hospital they acted like a badly timed sneeze could push you into a zone.”

“Jingyu-noona actually thinks it’s a good idea. Apparently the more exposure I have to you, the more easily I’ll be able to pick up anchors to you and stay tied to them when we’re training. She basically said she wouldn’t tell the doctors if we weren’t ‘dumb enough to get caught.’ Her words, not mine.”

Jaemin just grunts in response. Jisung is _still_ looking at him, which means he hasn’t laid back down, which means Jaemin cannot risk moving to get his phone. The universe is clearly conspiring against him, however, as his KakaoTalk goes off four times in rapid succession. He catches an unexpected break when he hears Jisung click his own phone open before he huffs, meaning a) it’s probably just their group chat, and b) Jisung is no longer staring at the side of his face. Jaemin seizes the opportunity and reaches for his phone in the world’s fastest bastardized sit-up, flicking his flashlight off and plunging them into the anonymity of darkness once again, save for the light from Jisung’s phone screen. It instantly makes Jaemin feel a bit better.

He hears Jisung typing away before his phone buzzes a few more times in short order, and when Jaemin lifts his own phone he sees a string of confused messages in reaction to a clip of a cat Renjun had sent with an incredibly large, round mouth that appears to be lip-syncing part of the chorus of “We Go Up,” subtitles included. Jaemin charitably sends a few kieuks—Renjun did just save his phone from certain death, after all—which makes Jisung scoff out a “Hyung, seriously?”

Jaemin just hums in response before rolling over, trying to get comfortable. His body pillow is _also_ still on the ground somewhere, but Jisung hasn’t offered it up and at this point Jaemin doesn’t care enough to ask for it.

“What do you normally do with Seolhee-noona?” Jisung asks then, voice a soft wash against Jaemin’s back.

“Talk about our feelings, mostly,” he mumbles, realizing it sounds a little pathetic compared to what Jisung described earlier.

“Maybe I should drag Jeno-hyung to see her, then,” Jisung says, and Jaemin just _knows_ he’s pouting again. “At least then he’d have to stay in the room with me for more than five minutes.”

Jaemin pulls in a long breath, but Jisung holds him off with an “I know, Hyung. Sorry.”

It’s quiet for a long moment as Jisung lays back down, contrite as he shuffles under the blankets until he reaches a position he likes. Jaemin should let it go, and it’s not his place to tell Jeno’s feelings to anyone on his behalf but—it’s not totally wrong, is it, if he tries to nudge Jisung in the right direction? He’s already got so much on his plate.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had Sentinel genes, Jisung?”

Jisung sighs, and when he speaks it’s muffled, as if he’s trying to hide his face in the bedding. “The chances I would ever manifest were so low after I became an idol, and you guys already took care of so much, especially when we were trainees. It just felt like one of the only ways I could help, by giving you one less thing to worry about.” He shuffles around then, and this time his voice is clearer. “Later on, I didn’t want anyone to see me as a liability. I worked so hard to prove I could be an equal on this team. I know I’m not the most street-smart, but that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of looking out for myself, or for you guys, you know?”

Jisung’s stubbornness on that last point prickles when it hits. Jaemin _does_ know, to some extent, even if he perhaps hasn’t always given that knowledge the weight it deserves.

“Maybe, then—” Jaemin swallows, trying to pick his words precisely. Trying not to give anyone’s heart away. “Your manifestation was scary for all of us, Jisung. We didn’t know if we were going to lose you. You’re certainly not a burden, but it was still a heavy moment, and you know Jeno. He probably just needs some more time to work through everything that’s happened.”

It’s quiet for a while after that, and Jaemin waits for Jisung’s emotions to abate to a level that indicates he’s no longer awake. Instead, Jaemin is surprised when Jisung’s nervousness flares up out of nowhere.

“Hyung,” he murmurs. Jaemin finds he can’t respond, rendered silent in anticipation of what Jisung might say. “I can’t read your mind. If I’d known you were so worried, I would have told you earlier that the noonas knew, but.” Jisung audibly swallows, a hurt-tinged sort of wistfulness taking the place of his earlier nerves. “I can’t help if you don’t talk to me.”

_So,_ Seolhee-noona’s voice rings in his ears. _With this in mind, how does Jisung-ssi protect you?_

“I want to, Hyung,” Jisung whispers, his sincerity a bullet through glass, shattering Jaemin’s fragile composure. “But that means you have to trust me enough to let me in, sometimes. I won’t drop you.” _I know you won’t drop me, Hyung. Not if you can help it._ That night in the kitchen suddenly seems so far away from this, whatever this is.

“Unless you just can’t help it, right?” Jaemin whispers back. It’s a distorted echo of the trust Jisung’s placed in him, and he doesn’t intend for it to be hurtful, but he hates that it is anyway. The cavern of Jaemin’s insides is sometimes just too dark and deep; a sound can enter in the purest tones, but it will still come back out of his worst places jagged and warped.

Jisung doesn’t speak again, but even if he did, Jaemin has no idea what he’d say in response. He lays awake long after Jisung eventually tapers off into a fitful sleep, trying and failing to think about nothing, eyes trained on the seemingly boundless void of the ceiling until they start to burn. He’s been reluctant to look too closely at how his relationship with Jisung has been changing, subtly but surely, over the past weeks. But if he’s honest, he’s more terrified of what else might shift between them—outside of his notice, outside of his control—if he can’t figure out how not to look away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don’t think Huang Renjun would love Pop Cat, even if that meme is over two-ish years old at the time of this story, well, we’ll just have to agree to disagree I think. (: Thank you for reading!


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